


Of Poets and Flowers

by Catopotato_22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, F/M, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Period-Typical Homophobia, Poetry, Smoking, Underage Drinking, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catopotato_22/pseuds/Catopotato_22
Summary: Small towns and boarding schools are not the best environments for self discovery. Unfortunately for Dean and Castiel, these are the places such things must happen. In Connecticut, in 1963, the lives of the two will be forever changed.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester was not loved. 

Dean Winchester was the boy who worked thanklessly to raise his brother and paid the bills when their father neglected to. He was the boy who would give up his sweater when the heat got shut off, just so Sammy wouldn’t go cold. He was the boy who ate plain bread for lunch so Sammy could have a real sandwich. He did this work silently, never caring to be appreciated for it.

Dean Winchester was the guy who was too popular to have to care about school. He was the guy who could get any girl he wanted if he just asked. He was the guy who could talk his way out of any situation. He was the guy who walked the hallways like a living trophy. He was the guy who made life seem effortless. 

He was well-liked, but he was not loved.

When moved to Connecticut, he started dating Lisa Braeden and inserted himself into her friend group. When Dean was with Lisa, his life was perfect. He never had to think about Sammy, his dad, paying rent, his grades- it melted away into the blank background of their Norman Rockwell painting. She was a wonderful girl, he liked her a lot. But sometimes, he’d take a step back and realize he was unhappy. He didn’t dislike her, there was just something missing.

He forced himself to stop thinking about the whole thing, snapping back to reality. He was sitting in the back of the class staring at the map of the United States, waiting for his name to be called, the second to last one on the roll sheet. 

“Gordon Walker?” Ms. Mills called our monotonously.

“Here.”

“Dean Winchester?”

“Here,” he replied.

“Ed Zeddmore?”

“Here.”

As the class began, Lisa turned around in her seat. “Hiya dreamboat, got any plans tonight?”

“No, you got something planned?”

“Well, I’m having a time at my place, you oughta come.” She rested her chin on the chair and batted her eyelashes at him. “I hope you will.”

“Sure, doll.” He smiled and put his head down on the desk, looking up at her. “How could I miss that?”

“It starts at 8 o’clock-ish, so be there or be square.” She sprung up in her seat and turned around. 

For that brief, fluttery, moment, Dean wondered how he could ever think about anyone other than Lisa. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are gonna have to ignore the shitty writing and grammar and the weird lack of paragraph indentations.
> 
> I’m posting this tonight because I promised myself last year I’d have this finished before the finale. Of course, that was naïve of me, seeing as how I’m only half finished and the finale just aired. I figure if I post the first chapter before I watch it, it kind of counts. I don’t know, this whole thing is self indulgent, I’ll post the next few chapters tomorrow, if I find the time.
> 
> No posting schedule we die like men.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel straightened his tie. This was the one thing out of place. At Schulman Academy, he was excelling in nearly everything, but one final part of his report card seemed to drag him down every year. He couldn’t seem to get the dress code just right. His tie was always crooked. No matter how hard he tried, it would always end up imperfect. The only people who noticed this little imperfection was Castiel and the headmaster. 

Headmaster Shurley was witty, interesting, and kind- until the parents left for the rest of the year. After years of the same speeches, jokes, and compliments to parents, his charms had worn off on the Castiel’s class. He was only fooled for his first few days but soon saw through the only three jokes the headmaster could make and decided to act out because of it. Castiel made jokes from the back, commenting and whispering over nearly everything Headmaster Shurley said. That’s when it went downhill. The headmaster saw these as actions of a rebellion that was a bud to be nipped. He nearly had him expelled in his first month. But in his “merciful” ways, he decided to make Castiel’s life a living hell.Castiel insisted the headmaster was out to get him. 

When a boy at Schulman Academy gets a dress code violation, it will bring down his grade slightly. When his parents see he has gotten a dress code violation twelve times in one semester, naturally, they will be furious. In their minds, this is catastrophic. It brings down his grades, his chances of getting into a good college, his chances of getting a good job, and his chances of having an easy, well-funded retirement. It ruins his life until he dies or retires, whichever comes first. 

Castiel had straight A’s, straight posture, perfect attendance, perfect grammar, always straightened up his room every morning, but the one thing he consistently failed at was keeping his tie straight. As the years passed, he grew accustomed to the dullness of the speeches, as did the rest of his classmates. 

This was the one thing out of place in his entire life. His Achilles heel. His entire life seemed to hinge on this horrid tie. Castiel straightened his tie again. 

“Would you quit obsessing over that damn tie?” His roommate sighed dramatically. 

“Looking presentable is an important thing to be aware of, and the headmaster-“

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “I know, I know, he’ll say-“

“‘Castiel, at this school we have morals and principles that I expect you to follow. Show some respect for your teachers, and start by keeping that tie straight,’” they both recited from memory. 

“When is he gonna let you have it easy?” Gabriel groaned. 

“When I die.” Castiel checked his tie again.

“I can’t imagine you being any more neurotic about that.” He shuddered, “you must have spent hours fixing your clothes.”

“I’m not neurotic.”

“You’ve got a stick up your ass and a bee in your bonnet, kid. You’re a complete wackadoo.” He shrugged and headed for the door of their room. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got breakfast to attend.”

“I’m not wearing a bonnet, how could I-ugh, never-mind.” Castiel shook his head and grabbed his coat on the way out. 

He ran down the hall to catch up to Gabriel. “Wait up for me, I’ve got to do something.”

He ran back into their room and moved aside a pile of clothes in his closet and pulled out a small wooden box. Gabriel poked his head into their room. 

“Alright, tell me- what’s up with the box?” he said. 

“Nothing is up with the box,” he said, moving it underneath his bed. “This got sent from home and I’m not supposed to open it.”

“So then there is something up with the box. That’s crazy. You’re not allowed to open it?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been hiding that thing in your closet for a week, what’s really in it?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s a gift from my mother, I have no idea.” He dropped his sheets over the box. 

“You know, when I tell people about you, they don’t believe it’s possible for a human being to be so strange.” Gabriel led him out into the hall by his elbow. “Oh, by the way, I know you’re busy being overanxious about your grades and your tie, but do you think you could blow that off for one night?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m going to a bash in town with Michael and the guys, and I was wondering if you felt like not having a stick up your ass about school for a while.”

“Hey! I don’t have a-“ Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed, “Yes, I’ll come.” 

“Admit it, you need to loosen up.” Gabriel nudged him as they walked down the stairs together.

“I did admit it, now stop being such a wacka-whatever about that!” He laughed. 

“So you’ll go to the party?”

“Alright, I will.” 

“Okay, you can’t back out now.” Gabriel pulled his tie out of his back pocket and pulled it over his head. “So after we sneak out, we’re kind of... crashing this party.”

“What? I’m not sneaking out!” Castiel hissed. 

“Too late, you can’t chicken out now.” He smirked. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the law of ‘no backsies.’ Do they have that on your home planet?”

“I swear, you’re giving me grey hairs.”

-

Gabriel cracked open the window, crouching on the desk. He stuck a leg out the window and motioned to Michael, Gadreel, Lucifer, Balthazar, and Castiel. 

He whispered, “so we just climb across the roof and climb down. Then we run across the grass and use the back gate.”

“Why don’t we go out your window more often?” Luci raised an eyebrow. 

“Because Castiel’s a panty waist.” Gabriel shrugged. “Don’t let him go last, he’ll split at the last second”

“Well, what if we get caught? Do you know how many demerits we’re talking?” He straightened his tie.

“We’re not gonna get caught if you’d just do it.” Lucifer elbowed him. 

“Yeah,” Michael added, “if you’re a pussy, just don’t go.” 

Gabe climbed out on the roof and lowered himself to the ground, using the pillars and bricks to cling to the wall. Michael and Lucifer followed after him, almost pushing each other out of the way. Balthazar slipped out after them, expertly climbing down the pillar. 

Gadreel gave Castiel’s shoulder a push towards the window. “We haven’t got all night.” 

Castiel’s palms were clammy already, but he stepped onto the desk in their bedroom and put one foot out of the window. His shoe slipped down the shingles, but he caught himself on the window frame. He stuck a leg over the edge and blindly felt for a ledge to put his foot on. Halfway down the wall, his foot slipped, and he fell into the bushes with a crash. 

“Oh, shit! You okay, man?” Gabe pulled Castiel to an upright position. 

“I’m fine.” 

“I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about than that.” Balthazar pointed up to Castiel and Gabriel’s bedroom window.

The light in the hallway had flicked on and was casting Gadreel’s shadow faintly across the grass. 

“I’m sure it’s just somebody getting water,” Michael whispered. 

Gadreel stuck his head out the window and called down to them. “Book it!”

Castiel froze like a deer in headlights, while the other guys started to run across the lawn. Gabriel lingered between the two groups as they began growing apart. 

“Gabe, ditch him!” Luci called back to Gabriel. “Where’s the gate?”

More lights flicked on in the dorm rooms, and Gabriel decided to grab Castiel by the arm and drag him along. He sprinted across the grass, his roommate stumbling along beside him. 

Michael, Balthazar, and Luci anxiously slowed down until Gabe passed them by, following his lead to the gate. Behind them, the dorms were lit up and beginning to buzz with commotion. They approached the ivy-covered walls surrounding the property and flung open the rusted gate. The five boys giddily slipped away from the school, feeling the thrill of adrenaline racing through them.

-

“Where is he?” Lisa paced around her bedroom, checking the driveway every time she passed the window. “Dean said he’d be here around 8, and it’s almost 9:30!”

“If you went downstairs and actually talked to the people at your party, you’d probably know.” Jo Harvelle fluffed up one of the pillows on Lisa’s bed. “I think you’re being too stressed about this.”

“I can’t just go down there and pretend like I don’t care if he’s there or not. It would be embarrassing to have your boyfriend forget you even had a party!” She checked out the window again. 

“He’s probably just a little late, but it’s more embarrassing to miss your own party since you’re being so much of a worry-wart.” Jo walked towards the door. “I’m going down, so you can either follow me or stay here and keep obsessing over him.”

“Fine.” Lisa took one last glance in hopes of spotting the old black car Dean drove, then tore herself away from the window.

The party was in full swing, dancing and shouting and drinking. People lined the walls and sat on all kinds of furniture, and plastic cups littered every unoccupied square of the floor. In the corner, a guy in an oddly out of place dress shirt and tie nervously hissed to his friend.

“You said this was a party, not a riot.” Castiel clutched his untouched drink to his chest. “I’m overdressed, aren’t I?”

“You’re still wearing your school uniform like good ole’ Chuck Shurley is gonna dock your grade for your damn tie.” Gabriel reached out and awkwardly loosened his friend’s tie, skewing it at an angle. “Relax, have fun, we can’t get in trouble or anything.”

“They’re drinking, Gabriel, teenagers are illegally drinking. We can get in much more trouble here.” He lifted his cup to his lips. “Thank goodness they have punch, at the very least.”

“Castiel, that’s not regular punch.” Michael laughed as he discretely spit back into his drink. “That’s nasty.”

“Is there anything here that doesn’t have alcohol in it?” He set his drink on top of the piano, already covered in crushed cups, with a couple leaning onto the other side as they continued making out. 

“You really need to loosen up.” Gabriel pushed him through the crowd. “Let’s get you a drink so you can start talking to new people, and so I don’t have to have you clinging to me all night.”

“Bored of me already?” Castiel accepted the beer shoved into his hands. 

“Yes.” Balthazar, Luci, and Michael said in a flat-toned chorus. 

“Double jinx, you both owe me a coke.” Luci pointed to Balthazar and Michael. 

“Go be free! Be wild! The night is young! You’re only a teenager once! Come home with a hickey for once in your life.” Gabriel slapped him on the back and the group scattered; off to mingle with the public school kids.

Castiel looked around, feeling stranded. He slunk over to the wall, standing awkwardly near a group of girls chatting. A red-headed girl on the edge of the group turned around to face him.

“I haven’t seen you at school before. Are you the kid from boarding school people are talking about?” She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Gabe, right?”

He awkwardly faltered, he figured he was unused to talking to girls. “Uh, no, Gabriel is my friend, er, my roommate. He’s both, but you know- uh- I’m Novak- well, that’s my last name- I’m Castiel. That’s what most- some- uh, well, people call me that. Because it’s my name, and that’s what names are for.”

“I take it you don’t talk to girls often?”

“That would be correct.”

“Well, Castiel is a cool name.” She laughed and shook his hand. “I’m Charlie.” 

“Hi.”

“So what do you think about the party?” She gestured around with her drink. 

“It’s... interesting.” He mumbled, “there’s a lot of people. A lot of drinking.”

“Oh yeah, well, that’s how high school kids are right?” She chuckled. “Is boarding school much different?”

“I think so. We can’t have house parties, since most of us live far away.”

She nodded and looked over to a girl walking by them. “Oh hey, Lisa!”

“Hi, how’s the party going?” She offered with a smile. 

“It’s great, have you met Castiel?” Charlie looked over at him with a smile. “He goes to boarding school nearby.”

“Yeah, uh, Schulman Academy.” He nodded.

“Oh, cool,” she turned from him to ask Charlie, “have you seen Dean?”

“No, I don’t think so, why?”

“Oh, nevermind.” She smiled and shook off the worry.

“Who’s Dean?” Castiel curiously turned his head to the right. “I don’t mean to be intrusive or-“

“Oh he’s just my boyfriend, but I don’t know where he is.” She shrugged. 

“Oh, boyfriend, yeah.” Castiel awkwardly took a swig of his beer. “Oh- that has alcohol, I just remembered.”

“Oh sorry, do you not drink?” Lisa stepped closer. 

“No- uh- yeah- I drink. I plan on imbibing copious amounts of alcohol tonight.” He blurted out, and then drank about half of his beer to stop himself from talking more. 

“I get the feeling you don’t talk to girls much, right?” Lisa folded her arms and shifted her weight to her back foot. 

“No, uh, I really don’t.” 

They stood there awkwardly for a moment until Jo pulled Lisa away to talk.

“Dean still isn’t here, what’s his problem?” Jo hissed. 

“I really don’t know,” Lisa shook her head, “it’s so embarrassing, I don’t know what to do.”

“Lisa, you’re too good for him. He’s the one missing your big bash.” Jo smoothed out her skirt. “But you know what?”

“What?”

“This is your party, this is your night, this is your life. You two are going steady, but if he blows you off like this, I think he might want to break up. But it’s pathetic to be dumped at your own party.”

“So what do I do?”

“Break up with him first. Or at least, send a message. Do something that says, ‘I could have any guy I wanted, and I chose your sorry ass-‘“

“Butt.”

“‘-your sorry butt to date. You’re lucky to have me! And if you don’t straighten out, I’ll leave you and find someone new.’”

“Right. I could get just about any guy I felt like, but I’m settling for a guy who doesn’t really care!” Lisa angrily took off Dean’s letterman jacket. “I bet he’s with some other girl anyway. What else could he be doing this late?”

“You’re right.” Jo folded it under her arm. “I don’t think he’ll ever show up at this point, he’s as good as gone. You’re a single woman.”

“Right!”

“I’ll leave this in your room, you can give it back to him on Monday.” She turned and walked up the stairs to Lisa’s bedroom. 

Lisa rubbed her shoulders and thought. It made her beyond furious that Dean would miss her party to possibly cheat on her. They were old news now, anyway. He ought to feel a fraction of her anger, by knowing she had a new boyfriend already. But no one at her school would dare go out with her, out of fear of Dean. There were, however, the boys from boarding school. Lisa eyed Castiel with a smile. Sure, he was awkward, but he was cute enough. Castiel stood alone, finishing his beer. Charlie had walked off to go get another drink and was now engaged in a conversation with Dorothy Baum. Lisa grabbed a couple of drinks and slid up next to Castiel.

“I got you something.” She handed him another beer and set his empty bottle on the ground by her feet.

“Thanks.” He smiled. “Where’s your jacket?”

“Oh, I got too hot for that.” Lisa laughed dryly, “besides, it was Dean’s, I didn’t really want it anymore.”

“What do you mean?” He tilted his head towards her. 

“Oh, well, I broke up with him.” She sipped her drink. “He’s been distant, he’s taken me out less, and now? He stopped showing up to my parties like he’s avoiding me.”

“Oh, that’s horrible.” He touched her shoulder. “Men can be so aloof sometimes.”

“Ugh, you’re right. But I don’t feel too bad, he wasn’t that great a boyfriend anyways. He was always so... cut off, emotionally, you know?” She sighed. “We weren’t meant to be.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t ruin your night.” He said before tipping back the beer bottle. 

“It’s not so bad.” She smiled awkwardly and said, “I’m glad you’re not all distant like Dean. He can be such a wet blanket sometimes, always upset about something.”

“Ah, that’s no fun.” He swished around the half-empty bottle and decided to finish it. 

Lisa’s reaction let on that she was fascinated, but concerned. “Don’t you think you’re going a bit fast?” 

“No, am I?” 

“You know, this will just make this party more interesting.” She grabbed a couple of beers from a passing football player.

He glared at her, but she gave him a wink, and suddenly he decided there must be a colder beer waiting for him elsewhere. 

She handed him a beer. “Let’s get blitzed, my party’s a drag.”

“Are you bored? At a party like this?” He gestured around, spilling a little of his drink. “Drinking, dancing, talking, isn’t that what parties are all about?”

“I’m flattered you think this is fun, but I think it could be much better.” She placed her drink on the low oak table by the sofa. 

“How?” Castiel straightened his tie, lowering his beer. 

She touched his chest, looking up at his lips. The look she gave him made Castiel shift around and avoid her eyes.

“Kiss me.”

Castiel’s face flushed a slight shade of red. “What? No- I don’t- no, it’s not right. What about Dean?” 

“Dean and I are old news, there’s nothing wrong with it.” She took a half step closer. 

“No, I- I just think-“

“What?”

“Well- uh- I think it’s just not a good time, you know, to uh, start something? If that’s what you wanted, anyways, but- if you didn’t-“

“Oh please, let’s not worry about that. Why don’t we just have fun?” Lisa wrapped her arms over the back of his neck. 

He felt his chest tightening up, and he held his beer up to his stomach with an iron grip. He could feel her pressing up against him, and he held painfully still. 

“Uh, I have to go.” He squeaked out. 

Castiel ducked away and pushed through the crowd. He elbowed his way into the kitchen to find Balthazar sitting on the counter with a punch bowl in his lap. Castiel shouldered aside a girl standing near the sink and held onto the counter. 

“You look like hell.” Balthazar pried the cap off a bottle of root beer. “What happened to you?”

“Lisa just tried to kiss me!” He raised his voice to shout over the crowd. 

In his anxiety, he barely took notice of how quickly he was going through beers.

“I don’t know who that is.” Balthazar poured his root beer into the punch bowl. 

“She’s the host- what should I do? I left her there!” He had nearly gotten to the bottom of the bottle. “Are we gonna get arrested?”

Balthazar picked up a bottle of Chardonnay. “I really don’t care if you swap spit with some girl, that doesn’t interest me at the moment.”

Castiel finished his beer and put the empty bottle in the sink. “Me neither, but like, I left her there, I don’t know what to do.”

“Just tell her you were getting a drink.” He uncorked the wine and added it to the punch.

“I already had a drink.” Castiel waved his hand lazily. 

Balthazar paused his pouring. “How many have you had? You’re already starting to slur your words.”

“Like, three, four.” He shrugged. “But if I’m supposed to get a drink even if I had one already I should get another one because I’m already getting another drink and I got another drink and then I’ll get her one. Right?”

“Sure.” Balthazar poured the last of the wine into the punch. “Just pace yourself.”

“That doesn’t actually make sense, I’ll just get a drink.” He rubbed his temple. “Oh, fucking hell, that makes my head spin.”

Balthazar held up two bottles. “Nice vermouth or cheap gin?”

“Are we buying?” 

“Just point.”

Castiel waved his finger ambiguously between the two. “Uh... which is which? They’re both blurry and I uh, don’t know...” 

“Good enough for me.” He shrugged and added them both to the mix. 

Then, as the final touch, he added a beer into the mix. He handed Castiel a paper cup of it.

“What’s this?” He looked into the pungent reddish-brown punch.

“It’s a hangover.” Balthazar set the punch bowl down on the counter next to him. 

“A hangover sounds exotic.” Castiel swirled it around in the paper cup. “Soundss...s festive.” 

“For what holiday?” He slid off the counter and stood next to the punch bowl.

“Thanksgiving?” Castiel took a sip of the punch and coughed. “Wow. That is strong.” 

“Yeah, liquid courage.” Balthazar got himself a cup. 

“Oh, I forgot about Lisa.” He frowned into his drink. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You’re  supposed to kiss her and maybe cop a feel, but you’re a dork, so you don’t do that kind of stuff.” 

Castiel huffed. “You know, I’m just gonna go out there and kiss her.”

“Sure, I mean I really don’t care, but- go get 'em.” Balthazar lazily looked around the room. “Easy, man.”

Castiel weaved his way through the crowd, trying to find his way around to where he was standing before. He spotted Lisa waiting by the wall, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, you ran away,” she said, “what happened?”

“I was getting a drink.” He held up the paper cup.

She laughed, “you just got cold feet. So, are you gonna kiss me or not?”

“Right. Yes. Yeah.” He shook his head and blinked, trying to stay focused.

As she cupped his face and pressed her lips to his, Castiel became increasingly aware of how many people were in the room. He tilted his head and pulled her waist in closer, feeling as if he were being watched from all around. Her lips were bitter with the taste of alcohol and lipstick. 

Swinging his car keys around his finger, Dean stalked up to Lisa’s Victorian house. With its windows glowing into the night, it looked like an expensive dollhouse. He had gotten into a particularly nasty argument with his father while trying to sneak out, and he finally had the opportunity to storm out and drive to the party. He straightened his posture and plastered on a smile, preparing himself to go inside. Lisa was going to kill him for being so late, but he couldn’t let on that he was upset. Life is perfect with Lisa. He waltzed into the party, stuffing his keys into the pocket of his jacket. He passed a group of football players with a smile, then dove after a flash of red hair. 

“Hey, Charlie!” He grabbed a drink from the table next to her. “Where’s Lisa?”

“Uh, you know, I actually was just talking to her, but she went off to talk to Jo.” She shrugged. “And Jo is, oh- right over there by Gabriel and Michael and some guys from the football team.”

“Gabriel? Michael?” Dean raised his voice over the music and chatter. “Who are these guys?”

“One of the kids from that boarding school,” she explained and pointed, “right there.”

“Okay, thanks!” He shouldered through the crowd to Jo.

Her smile dropped when she saw him. “So now you get here? Lisa waited hours for you.”

“Sorry, I just had an issue getting here, where is she?” He looked around, growing concerned.

“She doesn’t want to see you.” 

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Why don’t you look behind you?” Ash gestured with his cup.

He turned around, but couldn’t spot Lisa. Then he recognized her, making out with some guy by the wall. The hair at the nape of his neck was just long enough for her to twirl the ends around her finger. Everything that was perfect seemed to crumble away like she was pulling a thread from a sweater. Dean’s drink splashed over his shoes and over the floor, soaking into the carpet.

Her eyes went wide, and she pushed the guy away. “Dean!”

The other guy turned around, then looked at Lisa. “Is that him?”

She nodded, going pale in the face. The chatter stopped, leaving the silence to be filled with a record that seemed too loud. 

“That’s my girlfriend, asshole.” He crushed the plastic cup under his heel as he took a step forward. 

“You said you broke up with him,” Castiel hissed to Lisa.

“Oh, well, he doesn’t know it yet.” She bit her lip anxiously.

“Oh, this- this is a real hoot, isn’t it?” He laughed dryly, his sardonic tone dripping with poison, “we were goin’ steady, and now you’re goin’ after this nosebleed. That’s a real upgrade, Lisa.”

“You know, if you fuckin’ cared about your girlfriend- she wouldn’t think you’re an aloof asshole,” Castiel slurred. “She deserves better.”

“What, you think  you’re better?” He pointed angrily at him. “You’re just a some rich, drunk asshole who thinks he knows what’s best for my girlfriend. You don’t know shit, so you can go drop dead twice.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, already tensing up.

“Don’t antagonize him,” Lisa muttered. 

“No. You know what?” Castiel stepped away from the wall, swaying where he stood. “You... are a sleazy, worthless assho-“

Before he could finish his sentence, Dean punched him squarely in the gut, sending him stumbling into the furniture by the wall. The table near them crashed over with a tinkle of broken glass and Lisa gasped. Michael glanced at Gabriel across the room and began to drift towards the front door. Castiel held onto the wall for balance, visibly holding back a wave of nausea. He took a swinging punch at Dean’s face, the fist missing him and sailing past his shoulder. Dean grabbed Castiel’s upper arm and crouched down, pulling him over his shoulder and flipping him. He pressed his shoulder into Castiel’s stomach and pinned him to the ground. In the commotion of the crowd, Gabriel shoved people aside, trying to get close to Castiel. 

“You know, I was on the wrestling team at my last school, do you think I should join this year?” Dean strained to look Castiel in the eyes while he held him down. 

Castiel threw him off and got to his feet, holding onto the arm of a chair for balance. 

Dean’s eyes watered when Castiel’s elbow hit his nose, and he felt hot blood on his face. He was pretty sure it was his own.

Castiel thrashed around under Dean’s weight, Having to hold on to an armchair for balance. He tightened his jaw and tried to stay upright. Dean touched his nose and looked at the blood on his fingers in a brief moment of shock. Then he lunged at Castiel.

Castiel felt his shoulder hit the floor, then his head, then he was flat on his back, panting. He was surrounded by debris from the party, broken glass, and spilled drinks, and the carpet was somewhat sticky. Dean’s fist collided with his face, again and again, and again. 

“Leave him alone!” Lisa yelled over the crowd, “that’s enough, Dean!”

Gabriel pushed to the edge of the crowd to see Castiel twist around underneath Dean and vomit onto the carpet. 

Dean froze for a second, unsure of what to do when Castiel rammed his knee into Dean’s stomach. He rolled to the side, and Castiel crawled away and pushed himself up to stand. He wiped a hand down his face. Blood smeared over his chin and nose and dripping onto his shirt with the vomit stains. 

Gabriel grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the crowd, dragging his roommate to the door. The silent mass of high schoolers parted as they trudged out of the house, into the crisp fall air. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Gabriel looked him in the eyes, stopping at the end of the driveway. 

Some of the people inside continued staring, while others resumed with the party. The two of them ran until they rounded the corner. 

Gabriel slowed to a stroll. “Big night, huh? You finally loosened up!”

“Yeah.” Castiel’s hands still shook slightly from the stress of it all.

“Was that your first kiss?”

Castiel scowled defensively, “Yeah? So?”

“Nothing, it just seems- not all that- you. I figured you’d wait till marriage to hold a girl’s hand,” Gabriel laughed.

“Shut up. Maybe I just prefer the older, more romantic ways to get a girl.” He blushed. 

“Okie Dokie, kiddo.” He put his arm over Castiel’s shoulder as they shuffled past the darkened windows of Victorian houses. “Was that the first time you got drunk?”

“No, I had champagne on New Year’s once.” 

“Ooh, adventurous-y.” He rolled his eyes. “I bet everyone thinks you’re super cool for drinking a glass of champagne one time. You’re like, outta sight!” 

“Do me a favor and shut up, Gabe.

“Oh, right, I forgot, you can beat me up now since you’re all manly and grown-up after defending your uh- your lady’s honor. Right?” He giggled. 

“She’s not my lady, I don’t even like her.” 

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s true. I don’t really, like... care.” Castiel waved his hand and sniffled. 

“Uh-huh. So how many drinks have you had? Because you’ve gotta drink yourself blind to not like that girl.”

“Ugh, come on, I had about 5 or 6 drinks, I wasn’t keeping track.” He rubbed his forehead, wincing. 

“Those are rookie numbers, Castiel.” Gabe scoffed. “I had about twice that and still haven’t ralphed.”

“You didn’t have... whatever that shit that Balthazar was making is called.” Castiel took off his vomit stained tie and put it in his pocket. “It was like, punch with... root beer and wine, and uh...”

“Oh, shit.” Gabriel leaned against the street sign. 

“Are you gonna... you know?” Castiel pantomimed vomiting. “Cause if you do, I will too, so watch out.”

“We left the guys back there.” Gabriel pointed back to Lisa’s house. “We gotta go get them. They’re gonna get eaten alive.” 

“Oh, shit!” He rubbed the heels of his palms in his eyes and sat down. “If we go back,  we’re gonna get eaten alive.”

“Let’s just ditch them.” Gabriel looked down the rows of manicured lawns lit up by the cold street lights. 

“Let’s go back but not wait outside.” He wiped his nose again and smeared blood to the side of his face. 

They turned back to walk to Lisa’s house, and when they turned the corner, they saw crowds of people standing outside on her lawn. Gabriel spotted Michael and dragged Castiel along to him. 

“Oh my god, you guys should get the hell out of here!” Michael hissed and pushed the two of them off to the side. “It’s bad enough that I know you, I don’t want these people seeing me talk to you!”

“What’s going on?” Castiel looked around at the dispersing crowd.

“They kicked everybody out. I was already about to split, things were getting pretty hairy.” He pushed them down the street and spoke to Castiel. “I think it would be smarter if you didn’t show your face around here for a while.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I have no idea, but your face is pretty bad. I think it would be better if you didn’t show your face at all, it’s hard to look at.”Michael turned to Gabriel. “You’ve just been talking to this man who’s face looks like ground beef and you didn’t say anything about that?”

“We were just wondering where Balthazar and Luci are.” Gabriel looked back to the house over his shoulder.

“I have no idea, and I don’t intend to stick around to find out.” Michael herded them down the street. “I think if we hang around any longer, someone’s going to call the cops on us. That or that little domestic dispute Castiel just started.”

“What?”

Gabriel pinched Castiel’s cheek. “I don’t know why you’re so mean to him, Michael, that’s the face of a seductive young homewrecker. Women are very attracted to men who’s face looks like it belongs on a burger grill.”

“Come on guys,” Castiel batted away Gabriel’s hand. 

“You know, Gabe, I just wanted to get plastered in peace but you had to bring along this screaming queen, and now he’s getting all the attention. That not fair.”Michael walked ahead of them, hanging onto the street sign as they turned another corner. “My devastating good looks are no match for Castiel, who looks like he was attacked by hornets and bad Halloween makeup.”

“If you keep describing him like that, I’m actually going to hurl,” Gabriel said through clenched teeth. “I seriously think I’m going to puke.”

“Let’s just go back.” Michael ushered the two of them down the dark street. “you guys are fucked up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah yeah I said I’d wait until tomorrow but like I said: no posting schedule we go on whatever energy I feel. I don’t even remember what happens in this chapter this is way less organized than I thought it would be 15 minutes ago. 
> 
> This is an on fire garbage can. Could be a novel.


	3. Chapter 3

The few people left in the kitchen sat in awkward silence, waiting for Dean or Lisa to say something. The group sat around the small table in the kitchen, silently watching Dean ice his stomach and his staring contest with Lisa. His nose was still dripping blood down his face. 

“So...” Ash tapped his toes on the linoleum. “Fun party.”

Lisa glared at him. 

“Should we go clean up?” Jo asked quietly.

She nodded and turned to Dean. “You and I need to talk. Alone.”

“Oh you’re in the dog house,” Charlie whispered to Dean as she left the kitchen.

“I think we should go to my room.” Lisa took the ice pack and led him upstairs. 

The three people remaining in the kitchen exchanged glances with one another.

“How long until the yelling starts?” Charlie looked up at the ceiling. 

“Two bucks says she throws his jacket at him.” Ash reached for another beer.

Jo slapped his hand. “Can you both just be serious for a minute? That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“I bet it’s just gonna end up being one of those on-again-off-again types of relationships.” Charlie shrugged. “It’ll be fine by Monday.”

“Ten bucks says they have sex.” Balthazar poked his head into the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry, who are you? Why are you still here?” Jo stood up from her seat.

“Oh, I apologize, I haven’t introduced myself. My name’s Balthazar.” He stuck out his hand to shake hers, but she did not move. “Okay then, my friend is passed out in your bathtub, I hope you don’t mind me going up there and getting him.”

Ash waved his hand up the stairs, “sure.”

Jo gave him a confused glare when Balthazar left the room. Balthazar shuffled up the stairs, stepping over cups and cigarette butts in the carpet. When he passed Lisa’s bedroom door, it was silent.

As Dean sat on the edge of her bed, glaring right between Lisa’s eyes. She smoothed her skirt, avoiding his eyes. He refused to be the first one to break the silence. Childish, he realized, but he was committed at this point and would wait until she spoke. 

“So, tonight got out of hand.” She sat down next to him, sinking into the bed. 

“It did.” He took back the ice.

“And we’re both very upset.”

“We are.”

“There was a lot of drinking involved.”

“Mostly on your part,” he muttered under his breath. 

“I think we both said some things we didn’t mean.” 

“No- you know what? I meant every damn word, Lisa, you cheated on me.” He rubbed the blood off on the back of his hand. “You can’t just decide we’re done without telling me, and that somehow makes it okay. We weren’t over then, but we are now.”

Balthazar dragged Lucifer out of the bathtub by his armpits, dragging him down the hallway, and paused by Lisa’s door again. 

“Look, Dean, I was angry. You didn’t tell me where you were, and I got upset. I thought you were with someone.” She sighed, “Castiel doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Yeah, but he means something to me,” Dean’s voice wavered, “He means that you don’t trust me, and I shouldn’t trust you.”

Balthazar dragged Luci down the stairs, trying to hold him over his shoulder. At the bottom of the stairs, he saw Ash, Charlie, and Jo picking up trash. “Thanks for the party, but it looks like I won’t stick around to see the end of those bets. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Charlie awkwardly nodded to him as he left. 

“Dean, you didn’t show up for hours, what else could I have thought?” Lisa balled up her hands.

He snapped, “The logical thing- I had shit going on at home!”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” She stood up, picking up his jacket.

“Oh? You’re sorry? That just magically makes this whole thing, okay, I guess,” he spat. “Sorry doesn’t fix things. It doesn’t mean anything! I can’t believe you.”

“You know what? Why don’t you just take your damn jacket back!” She threw it at him, starting to tear up. “Cause you don’t seem to care about how I might feel about this!”

“ Because I don’t! ” He dumped the ice pack on her bed and stormed out of the room.

Lisa choked back a little sob, freezing in shock. Dean stomped down the stairs, turning on his heel at the bottom. 

“And don’t bother talking to me on Monday!” He shouted back upstairs.

She marched out of her room, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“I wasn’t planning on it! I won’t bother talking to you ever again!” She screamed back at him, clutching the banister until her knuckles turned white. “Because this isn’t all my fault. You’re a terrible boyfriend, you know that? And you are terrifying! You are so full of anger, all the time, and I can’t tell why.” 

Dean gritted his teeth, breathing heavily while his bloody nose dripped on the carpet. He said nothing and just stood for a moment, holding his jacket. Charlie and Ash exchanged glances, mutually deciding to ignore their bet.

Lisa‘s voice shook tremulously, “Get out of my house.” 

“I’d leave sooner if you’d shut the fuck up.” He scowled and turned around, marching for the door.

“I hate you!” She shook as the tears started forming in her eyes. 

“The feeling is mutual.” 

The heavy oak door slammed loudly behind him as Dean stalked off from the house to his car. He threw his jacket down on the passenger seat and swung the car door closed. The Impala tore out of the driveway and ripped around the corner, tires squealing as Dean bit his sore lip to keep from shouting. He skidded to a halt at a stop sign and put his head on the steering wheel. He bounced his forehead on the horn, hearing it honk and disturb even more people in the neighborhood. 

“Why am I like this?!” He screamed, feeling a bruise forming on his forehead and a tear slip down his face. “God fucking damn it! Why do I fuck everything up like this?”

He let it rest on the horn, shouting along with the prolonged honk. A couple of doors opened with very angry and tired residents of the street staring at him. Dean sat up and smacked the dashboard angrily. 

“Sorry, Baby,” he whispered, “I’m a little freakin’ stressed out at the moment.”

He wiped the tears away and drove off down the street, muttering to himself.

“Seriously, why do I do things like this?” Dean questioned himself, almost philosophically, “why am I so angry?”

He turned the corner, slowing down to focus more on breathing. 

“Why do I just blow up like that? I hurt people- innocent- not exactly innocent but they’re people.” He sighed, “I don’t know.”

Dean pulled over to the side of the road and sat in his car. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

-

Balthazar propped Lucifer up against the wall and picked up a handful of pebbles. He shot them up at Castiel and Gabriel’s window. After the third pebble, Castiel pried open the window and stuck his head out. A fourth pebble hit his forehead.

“What was that for?” He scowled.

“That was an accident,” Balthazar said, “Luci’s out cold, help me carry him up.”

Castiel sighed, glanced back into the room, then shut the window.

“That fucking prick.” Balthazar threw the rest of the pebbles at the windows. He waited by the window until he heard the doors creak open. 

“Come on, you get his feet.” Castiel picked Lucifer up under his arms. The two of them set him down gently and shut the door as quietly as possible. Balthazar let out a sigh. Silently, they lifted Luci again and tried to carry him up the stairs.

“Don’t do it feet first, idiot,” Castiel hissed. 

They switched spots and crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. Every time the step would creak, a bolt of fear would shoot through them both. Eventually, they made it down the hall and pushed open the door to Michael and Lucifer’s room. 

“So you just stomp in wherever you like, don’t you?” Michael sat up and grumbled at them. 

They heaved him onto the bed and threw a sheet over him.

“He’s your roommate, he’s your problem now.” Balthazar turned him on his side. “If he chokes on his own vomit, it’s your fault now.”

“You suck,” Michael grumbled. “This whole night has been awful. Can we not just get drunk like normal people?”

“Sorry.” Castiel stepped towards the door. 

“When people ask what happened to your face, don’t you dare fink. I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll kill you if you even think about it.” Michael pulled the sheets over his head.

“What do you think Gadreel’s gonna do?” Balthazar whispered, “we ditched him, I don’t think he’ll be too happy.”

“I’ll have him fucking crucified.” Michael poked his head out of the sheets. “Now get out of my room, go to sleep.”

-

The next morning, Castiel looked into the mirror for the first time. His nose has stopped bleeding, but blood was still crusted into his skin, his shirt, and his sheets. As he washed his face, he saw that his black eye had turned to a slightly swollen purple shade. He touched it gently, wincing and grimacing. His chin was scraped, not too badly, and he had a cut on his lip, but nothing too bad. He bared his teeth and checked for chips or missing teeth, but thankfully, found nothing. Castiel looked over his shoulder at the other guys in the bathroom. Raphael was brushing his teeth, and complaining to Michael about being left out of the party. Michael was focused on blocking Samandriel (more often called Alfie) from using the mirror. Alfie slid over next to Castiel and tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Hey, can I get by and- Woah,” He eyed Castiel’s bruises. “What happened to you?”

“It’s a long story. You can have the mirror.” He darted back to his room. 

“Nice shiner,” Gabriel peeked his head out from the pile of sheets he buried himself in. 

“People are starting to notice, what do I say?” His bed creaked as he sat down on it.

“I don’t know, just tough it out. Tell ‘em you fell in the middle of the night.” He responded to a glare, “I’m not very helpful when I’m hungover.”

“You’re not helpful, even when you’re not hungover.”

“Ouch, that hits where it hurts.” He sat up and stretched. “Me and some guys are gonna go hang out and study in the storage room. Are you gonna come with us or are you officially uptight again?”

“I suppose it’s better than being asked questions every time I look up.” He shrugged and grabbed his tie.

“So, are we busted yet?” Gabriel rubbed his temples as he walked down the hallway. 

“I have no idea.” He shrugged. “I don’t think they heard us coming in, but if so, prepare for the demerits to start rolling in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I promise this is the last one before I go to sleep, but I might start doing like... fun facts?? Idk like weird things that happened or didn’t make it into the fic over the past year I’ve been writing?? Idk just thinking.
> 
> Anyways if it hasn’t done it already, shit is about to get lowkey homophobic because you know, the 60s :) (totally forgot to tag period typical homophobia or anything I’m definitely doing that right after I finish bothering my readers) 
> 
> PS I know this chapter might sound like I hate Lisa (it definitely had that vibe in the first draft ngl) but I promise I don’t they’re just teenagers who make mistakes


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I said it was the last one tonight but it turns out that I’m a little liar. 
> 
> Ok so I’m putting the notes at the beginning to say this is like the first big tw for homophobia, if you didn’t get that huge addition of tags I put in, but these kids throw around slurs like I throw... I can’t actually throw anything very well but the point is there is a lot of slurs and stuff. 
> 
> Also unrelated I just found out that the notes I put in the beginning chapter show up in all the chapters?? Sorry I’ll fix that ASAP, but if I were you I wouldn’t trust me because I’m a liar.

“...so this psycho punched him in the gut and shoved him into a table, and he broke a shit ton of crystal or something, and Castiel just stood there and took it. He punched the guy, and then this guy picks him up and threw him to the ground, I’m not even kidding, like a wrestler! I think he said something like ‘I’m a wrestler, or whatever’ and Castiel bashed his friggin’ face in. Then this guy tackled him and just starts beating the living shit out of him. I genuinely think this guy was trying to kill him. And he probably would have if Castiel didn’t kneel him in the stomach, so then I grab him and we split. And after that, I think I blacked out.” Gabriel waved the smoke out of his face, perched on a stack of suitcases as he recounted the tale to the small circle of boys. “It was badass.”

“That is not at all what happened.” Michael laughed, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette. “He blacked out, you can’t trust his memory.”

“We were all there, you don’t have to keep telling this story.” He said, his cigarette dangling from his lips. 

“Actually, I was not there, Metatron was not there and I heard that you left Gadreel behind,” said Raphael. “But please just spare us from hearing this story again.”

“Actually, I was passed out in the bathtub when this happened, I want to hear the real story behind why Castiel’s face is so fucked up.” Luci adjusted his sunglasses.

Michael rolled his eyes. “You guys were loaded and lame. Lamer than a guy who wears shades indoors.”

“I’m hungover.”

“It’s already dark in here.”

“Finish your god damn story.” 

“Alright, so Castiel got punched, and nearly vomited, then got tackled and thrown and got his ass kicked, then he ran away.” Michael took a drag from his cigarette. “It was not badass, you were just acting like pathetic drunk assholes. It was actually really embarrassing.”

“So I passed out around the time Castiel got flipped by the wrestler dude, which is actually really badass, and before that, I was puking on myself in a bathtub.” 

He reached for the packet of cigarettes, shook it, the threw it down. “There’s no more.”

There was a chorus of grumbles and curses.

Metatron waved his cigarette. “Sorry.”

The chorus grew louder. 

“Think of it as me protecting your health,” he shrugged. “Last year I read something in the paper about some researchers in England or the Surgeon General or somebody saying cigarettes kill you.”

“Yeah, and my mother says jacking off makes you go blind.” Michael scoffed “Until I see some solid proof, I think these people are trying to stop us from having fun.”

“I don’t know Michael, maybe get your eyes checked.” Balthazar made an obscene pantomime as he imitated Michael. “‘No, Balthazar, don’t come in, I’m busy! I’m just- Uh- I need to study alone right now!’”

The boys cackled and jostled him around, mimicking Balthazar. Michael rolled his eyes, going a little red in the face. 

“Alright, cut it out, the joke is dead.” He glared. 

Luci coughed loudly, pounding Michael’s shoulder for their attention. 

“Really, I don’t think it matters, we’re all breathing the same air.” Luci waved his hand through a cloud of smoke. “I think it’s bullshit.”

“No, I think they said it causes lung cancer in women.” Metatron insisted.

Micheal looked from side to side, comically.

“I really don’t think that’ll be a problem, for us guys at this all-male boarding school,” he shrugged. 

“It probably does stuff to guys too, I didn’t actually read the whole thing.” 

Gabriel clapped. “Incredible, Doctor Metatron over here, our reliable source of medical advice, ‘didn’t actually read the whole thing.’ Amazing.”

“They’re still not good for you.”

“And yet here you are, smoking the last cigarette.”

Luci rolled his eyes. “This still doesn’t solve the problem that we ran out of cigarettes.”

“Hey, Castiel,” Gabriel leaned over to him and muttered, “don’t you have that box under your bed? You stash cigarettes or something there, right?”

“No, I don’t.” He shook his head. “I said I didn’t know what was in there.”

“Well, I’m dying to know, even if it is just your weird stash of shit, I’m intrigued.” 

Luci lowered his shades. “ What is so interesting that you guys talking about secretly?”

“Cas has a secret box he’s been hiding under his bed, and I, for one, would like to invade his privacy.” Gabriel looked around. 

Castiel rubbed his neck. “Guys, it’s a gift from home, I don’t think I’m supposed to open it until the holidays.” 

“Do you have any written evidence of that rule?” Michael raised an eyebrow. 

“No.”

“Then go get it,” Gadreel nodded him to the door. 

Castiel stepped outside and groaned. He ran down the hallway and opened the door to his room. Feeling bruising on his stomach and ribs, he pressed his stomach to the floor and swung his arm underneath his bed, fishing for the box. He pulled it out and returned to the group. 

They shuffled their seats around into a circle, struggling to see in the dim light. Castiel flipped the latch, lifted the lid, revealing a small purple book and a frayed green ribbon that still held its color after years of darkness.

“Well, that’s lame.” Metatron blurted out. 

“Can it, what’s in the book?” Gabriel sat down next to Castiel and picked up the book. “‘Sonnets to a Lover’ by Myrtle Reed? This oughta be interesting.”

“Yuck, it’s poetry?” Luci stretched out across a particularly large bag. “Who wants to do English class in your spare time?”

“Yeah, but it’s written by a girl,” Michael grabbed the book with a smirk. “I bet there’s something real steamy in here.”

“If you want it so bad, read it.” Balthazar leaned in.

“No, you read it!”

“No, you.”

“I don’t wanna read it, you’re the one who suggested it.”

“You’re the one who’s got it!”

He threw the book at Balthazar. “Well take it if you wanna hear it so bad.”

“You do too, don’t lie. If the court reporter reads back the statements-”

“Children, children, hey!” Gabriel clapped his hands. “Castiel should read it, he found the thing.”

“Yeah!” Gadreel agreed, reclining by Balthazar’s feet. 

“All right, fine.” He took the book, running his fingers over the smooth gold edge, then the rough, hand-cut edges. “Oh wow, this was used by Akobel Sunder in 1914. It’s dedicated to J. S. McC. That’s probably who she wrote about.”

“That’s boring, skip to a poem.” Michael jeered.

“Alright, fine.” He cleared his throat. “It’s called ‘An Old Love Song’ and here it is:

As if my heart-strings softly played

By angel hands that touch chords unseen,

Through all the dead sweet years that lie between,

There comes the music of a serenade,

Of olden dreams the melody is made,

Of violets that bloom amid the green;

And like a benediction, calm, serene,

A gentle peace upon my soul is laid.

And yet, forgive me if hot tears start,

When at the end the deep chords seem to pause

And great arpeggios swell out clear and strong, 

For thou hast kept the sun within my heart

And I must weep for very joy because

Our years of love are mingled with the song. ”

A heavy silence had settled into the room, blanketing them in their own thoughts. The wind creaked on the grime-covered window outside, and the dim light of dusk struggled to get through its grayish, clouded panes, untouched and uncleaned for years, maybe decades. 

“That didn’t even rhyme right.” Lucifer scoffed, interrupting the pause.

“Yes it did, it’s a sonnet, you idiot.” Michael scoffed.

“It doesn’t rhyme like one. We learned it in English class, like Shakespeare.”

“This is a Pet- uh, Petrarchan sonnet, which is different,” Gadreel offered. “Shakespeare ends his with a couplet, these start with a-“

“Sextet?” Metatron answered.

“No, sestet. Shakespeare also starts with three quatrains and Petrarchan sonnets start with an octave,” Raphael recited. “You’d know this if you paid any attention in class.”

“Octaves are for music, dumbass.” Luci scoffed.

“It’s a poetry term.” 

“Who cares, poetry is lame. When would I ever need to know what a sextant is anyway?” He shrugged. 

“Sestet. It would save you from looking like an idiot.” 

“And with poetry, you can woo women.” Michael winked. 

“And you’ll need to know it when Headmaster Shurley says he’s gonna kick you out if you fail English,” Gabriel snickered. 

“Alright, but that wasn’t very good.” He grumbled, “Who’s ever heard of- Mary- Maud- Margret Reed?”

“Myrtle Reed.” Castiel read off the gold and white calligraphy lettering on the cover. 

“Well obviously I don’t know her name, so she’s probably not any good.” He threw up his hands.

“You don’t know a lot of things, Luci.” Gabriel scoffed. 

“But do any of you know her?”

They looked around, and slowly shook their heads. 

“Doesn’t mean she’s not good, she’s just undiscovered.” Castiel murmured, “I mean, we’ve all had to discover a poet one day, having heard nothing of them before. You probably lived without hearing of or knowing who the hell Shakespeare was and that doesn’t mean he’s no good. You’re taking poetry too analytically. Just because it’s famous or because it rhymes ‘right’ doesn’t mean it’s inherently good or bad or anything, really.”

They stared at him blankly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Look, it’s okay that it’s not famous. Most things aren’t. You’re not famous, I’m not famous, but we can still have worth. We aren’t measured by how people react to us, and, you know, kids like us have no business judging these poems, we can’t write any better than she can.” He stood up, holding the book to his chest. “But come on, can’t you feel the emotion? It’s beautiful. Who cares about rhyme schemes and sestets and all that literary jargon if you can’t get to the root of what the poem is about? You even don’t need to know what half of it means, it’s all in the emotion. Like ‘The Jabberwocky’ is made up of nonsense and gibberish, but you still understand what‘s happening and how it feels. If you can’t tell what Myrtle is talking about unless you pick apart the way she organizes things, you’re wasting your time. Can you all get with it?”

They settled in silence again, this time, less comfortable, and far more in awe and near fear. 

“I dig it,” Gabriel nodded softly, looked around at the other boys, and said, “You’re not wrong, you’re just intimidating.” 

Castiel sat down awkwardly, clutching the book. He put the ribbon on that page and closed it.

“Great, we just spent a half-hour sitting around bitching about that like English class, and still- no cigarettes.” Luci held out his open palms for a moment, then sighed threw down some money that clattered on the suitcase in the middle that acted as a makeshift table. “I’ll pay for ‘em, who’s getting them?”

“You’re a philistine, you know that? That wasn’t even a half-hour.” Michael rolled his eyes, laughing dryly, “Castiel just poured his goddamn heart out and that’s your response?”

“Couldn’t think of anything else, did I ruin a moment?” He stretched out over a couple more bags. “What was yours gonna be?”

“‘Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something.’” He recited smugly. 

“Wow, you really thought that?” 

“No, Plato did. I just was gonna ask Castiel if he’s a fucking homo.” Michael snorted. “Saying candy-ass shit like that, I’m surprised no one else brought it up.”

Castiel scowled. “Oscar Wilde once said ‘quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit.’” 

“Well, then forget the irony of quoting that,” Michael said, “wasn’t he also a bit...”

Metatron interrupted him, “didn’t he get arrested because of that?”

Gabriel butted in, “Well wasn’t Plato also-“

“You know how the Greeks were.” Luci raised his eyebrows.

“I like English class, sue me.” Castiel gave him a rude hand sign. 

“Guys seriously, don’t joke about the stuff. You could get him kicked out of school for this.” Balthazar scowled. “I know a guy who killed himself because people thought he was a homo.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Okay, yeah, but it can happen.”

“Jesus H. Christ, I didn’t kill Castiel, I just think he’s light in the loafers, what are you looking at me for?” Michael looked around angrily. 

“Would you all quit talking about me like I’m not here?” Castiel looked from Michael to Gabriel.

“Yeah, Castiel.” Absently, Gabriel patted his shoulder. “But, seriously, you can’t just go accusing people of things like that.” 

“Oh, now you’re all ganging up on me for saying what everyone was already thinking?” Michael scoffed. 

“We’re not all ganging up on you,” Raphael rolled his eyes. 

“You’re not  all thinking it.” Castiel looked to Gabriel. “Right?”

“I don’t think it’s that bad to be a queer, anyway. You can just hide it.” Michael shrugged. “Even if people think it, it’s not the end of the world. It’s just a joke.”

“Yeah but someone takes it the wrong way, they might try and kill him,” said Balthazar. 

“He can call the cops, can’t he?”

“No, they’re twice as likely to kill him.”

“Fucking hell, that  is scary.”

“I would really appreciate it if you would all refrain from debating how violent my death will be  right in front of me.” Castiel rubbed his forehead. 

“You know, Michael, if you’d stop making jokes about it, it would be nice to have a normal conversation, and maybe get those cigarettes I asked about two years ago.” Luci put his shades on his head. “I agree, though, but don’t talk about his murder when he’s right there.”

“Oh my god, I’ll go buy the cigarettes, assholes. And you’re wrong, obviously.” Castiel grabbed his book, picked the money off the floor, and stormed out of the storage room.

“Micheal you  dick ! Can’t you listen to someone talk without your massive ego getting in the way of your thoughts? Or whatever it is that makes you such a jerk.” Gabriel yelled at him. 

Castiel paused outside the door and tried to avoid creaking the floorboards. ”Can you go five seconds without saying he’s a homo?”

“First of all, lower your voice,” Michael scoffed, “Second of all, he’s probably queer, anyways.”

“You moron.”

“Queer is a different word, so technically-“

“‘So technically-‘ uh, so technically I’ll kick your ass.”

Castiel flashed a little twitch of a smile. 

“Okay I see how it is, you’re one of them too!”

“No! You pretentious ass. Are you really so rude you can’t see it’s not funny anymore? This is something that- with the way the headmaster is- could get Castiel kicked out, even a little joke. This could even get him killed.” 

A tense silence muffled the noise.

“Relax, it's not that serious, Gabe. Ever heard of dark humor?”

“Michael!” Gabe kicked one of the suitcases. “Sure, he’s a faggot, but would you quit joking about it? I mean, look at how well you all handled it. You all started talking about how he’d get murdered! And we’re his friends. How do you think someone would react if they didn’t like him in the first place? He’s a faggot and he doesn’t even know it yet, but it’s still ruining his life.”

“It’s not that serious-“

“No, it is.” The floorboards creaked under Gabriel’s shoes. “At an all-boys school? Yeah, it’s  very serious.”

“He’s right you know,” Balthazar added his voice to the mix. “It didn’t take you very long to figure it out and make fun of him for it, so if you don’t stop, how long do you think it’ll be until more people find out? It’s not his fault, you know.” 

“Alright, I get it,” Michael said. “I won’t say anything. I mean, if he actually is. It’s only a matter of time before he goes and tells us in some figurative language like any other homo poet.”

“Yeah, but for now, he’s walking around with a target on his head that he doesn’t even know is there.”

The room was silent once again, heavy with an awkward realization of their immaturity. Castiel moved down the hall as quietly as he could.

-

Dean browsed the aisles of the little shop, watching the sun sink lower through the big storefront window. He picked up a magazine and flipped through it without even seeing what was on the page. Monday would be hell for him, so he should enjoy his last hours of freedom. It was hard to, thinking about Lisa, and Castiel, and Lisa and Castiel together. He should apologize to both of them, but he would probably damage his pride even worse, and what would he get? Lisa would still hate him, Castiel would be the same, and of course, Dean would never, not in a million years, have a chance to change things with either of them again. 

He felt downright miserable, and he looked like it too. His nose had obviously stopped bleeding a day later, but his face was battered and scratched, and he hid a massive, blotchy, blue, and black bruise on his stomach. It ached when he bent over to tie his boots, but his heart ached more when he stood up and thought he saw Castiel in the window. Then he panicked when he realized it wasn’t just a thought. He ducked behind the shelf, hearing the bells on the door jingle. 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel walked over to him.

“Hi.” He stood up shakily. “I was just tying my shoe.”

“Yeah, I saw.” He nodded. “Are you still going to beat me up or are we over that?”

“No- uh, yeah. I mean- I’m not gonna beat you up.” he took in a deep breath, preparing himself to take a huge blow to his ego. “I’m sorry, I overreacted. It was childish. I was being territorial of a person who didn’t care anymore. You were right.”

“No, you didn’t know, I’d expect any guy to react that way. It was wrong to kiss a girl right after she dumps someone. She was emotionally vulnerable and I took advantage of that without thinking of the consequences.” He fiddled with a couple of coins, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. “So can we move past that?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Dean felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but only to make room for a different kind of weight, a pang of guilt that seemed to frequently invade his thoughts as of late.

Castiel patted his pockets, then groaned and cursed. “Do you think you could buy cigarettes for me?”

“Yeah, what are you, thirteen?” Dean laughed, leaning on the side of the shelf to seem nonchalant. 

“I’m sixteen,” He grumbled, “I left my ID in my bag.”

“I know, I’m just poking fun, since we’re friends, right?” He received a glare from Castiel. “No? Okay, I understand.”

Castiel handed him the money and they walked to the register. They bought the cigarettes and walked together while Dean nervously chattered away. 

“So what kind of guy walks around without an ID, anyways?”

“I do.” Castiel put his hands in his pockets when they stepped out into the cold. “I don’t keep it on me, I wasn’t planning on making a packie run today.”

“Okay, clue me in here, what’s a packie?”

Castiel jerked his thumb behind him. “A package store?”

“A liquor store.” Dean looked back over his shoulder.

“But it doesn’t just sell liquor.” Castiel turned his head to see it better with his swollen eye.

“The fuck kinda packages are you picking up here?” Dean shook his head. “New England people, I swear.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everybody here has weird slang, like, Lisa says grinder instead of a sub, it’s frickin’ weird.” 

“It’s not weird.”

“No, it is. Nobody else says that. And tag sale. It’s called a garage sale.” Dean stared at the trees lining the street, trying to avoid looking at Castiel. “And don’t you guys call a water fountain a bubbler?”

“No, that’s Rhode Island.” He shook his head. 

Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Alright, I do, but everyone has weird slang.” Castiel picked at the scab forming on his chin as he spoke. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, you know, all over.” Dean shrugged. 

“All over?” He said, “what’s that like?”

“Not fun. We switch schools nearly every year, for starters.” He slouched and gestured to Castiel’s eye, in an attempt to change the subject. “You know, all the bruises look kind of badass.”

“I’m glad you take pride in your work.” He folded his arms, looking like he couldn’t care less what Dean thought. “You don’t look half bad.” 

Dean felt himself beginning to get flustered and started to walk off. “Alright, I’ve got to go, see you around, Cas.”

“Cas?”

“Yeah, like a nickname. Can I call you that?”

“No.” He scowled. “I apologized, but it doesn’t mean we’re friends now.” 

“Yeah, okay, I get it.” Dean made an effort to disguise his feelings. “Yeah, bye then.”

“Goodbye, Dean.” 

Dean walked off and turned the corner, ducking into a small alleyway to hide. He sat on an overturned wooden crate, leaning in the wall. 

“He said we’re not friends, come on!” Dean cursed at himself quietly, “snap out of it, you idiot, he doesn’t like you and you shouldn’t like him.”

Meanwhile, Castiel was sitting down on a park bench, flipping through the book. He smoothed out the ribbon that now bookmarked the only pages he had read in it. He shut the book and set it aside. It was a nice gift, he would have liked it if Michael hadn’t said that about him. He’d just have to leave it behind. He stood up and didn’t look back as he made his way back to the school through the park. 

Soon after, Dean left the alley and walked to the park. He picked up the purple book and flipped to the page bookmarked by the frayed ribbon. On the inside cover, he ran a finger over the name written in. It wasn't Castiel. He took his finger and touched the first letter of the sonnet, a red and black stylized “A” on the thick cream-colored paper. 

He stared at the bookmarked page, and said, “None of this makes any sense to me.” 

He closed it and tucked it into his jacket, promising to give it back to Castiel as soon as he saw him, hoping it would be soon. 


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re going to school, I don’t care what you want!” Sam put all his weight into pulling Dean’s foot off his bed.

“No! I’m sick.” He pitifully fake coughed. “I can’t go!”

“You’re not sick.” Sam let Dean’s foot fall off the edge of the bed when he folded his arms.

“Yes, I am, I’m very contagious and you should walk to school now so you’re not late. You’ll have to-“ Another fake cough, “go on without me.” 

“Fine, I’ll leave you here to die, if you insist...” Sam slowly turned his back on Dean.

Dean pulled all his limbs back into the center of the slightly too small bed, pulling threadbare sheets over his head. 

Sam whipped around and yanked them all on to the ground. “You can’t fool me that easily!”

“No, come on!” Dean whined, pulling his bare legs to his chest. “Now I’m cold!”

“Then get dressed, you won’t be cold.” 

Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. Sam rolled his eyes, throwing the black T-shirt and wrinkled jeans at Dean.

“You make a compelling argument, but it won’t make me go to school.” He dug through a pile of flannels on the ground. 

“Are you avoiding school because of Lisa?” He raised an eyebrow with his piercingly accurate question. “Or is it because of how beat up you look?”

“Get out of my room.” Dean threw a dirty sock at him. “Go eat breakfast or something.”

“We share a room!” Sam backed out of the way of the door swinging shut in his face.

Dean tugged on the jeans, threw off the shirt he slept in, and pulled on a fresh one, layering it with a red flannel shirt. He dug out a couple of mismatched socks and was halfway through putting them on when Sam pounded on the door.

“What?”

He shouted through the door, “we’re out of lunch meat, what should I make sandwiches with?” 

“I- I don’t know, Sam.” He scoffed, pulling on the other sock. “Do we have cheese?”

“We’re out of that too.” 

“What about... lettuce?”

“I don’t think we ever had that in the house.”

“Do we have anything in cans? Fish?”

“Let me check.”

“Wait, I can’t find my shoes!” Dean searched for his converse. 

“Right here.” He opened the door and dropped them inside. “We have canned olives.”

“What?” Dean looked down at his feet, wearing one worn white athletic sock with a hole in the toe and one of his father’s old gray argyle socks. “Just... olives? Do we have bread?”

Sam ran to the kitchen and came back with a bag of bread. “It’s the ends of the loaf.”

“Well that’s your lunch, let’s go.” He grabbed his keys and headed out the door. “Remind me to go shopping soon.”

Dean started the car and Sam put his backpack by his feet, and he pulled out of the driveway of their shabby little apartment. They arrived at Sam’s school, and screeched to a halt by the curb, earning Sam a few odd looks. 

“You’ve got to go to school,” Sam pulled his bag out and leaned in to yell to Dean.

“I swear, I will.” He held up his hand and said, “Scouts honor.”

“You were never in Boy Scouts.” Sam slammed the door shut, now shouting through the rolled-down window.

“Right on.” He hit the gas and peeled away from the curb, leaving Sam with the receding tide of middle schoolers going into classes.

He turned and went to sit inside his first-period class. He leaned his backpack on his desk, staring out the window while he waited for his name to come up on the roll call. He saw Dean’s car head in the direction of the high school, and relaxed. Then the squeal of tires caught his attention as the car turned around in the road to drive in the opposite direction. 

He gritted his teeth in frustration, blurting out, “Oh, son of a-“ 

“Mr. Winchester!” His teacher gave him a stern look. “Would you like to share with the class what exactly seems to be troubling you?”

The class broke out into muted giggles, turning his direction. 

Sam’s ears turned red and he ducked his head lower. “I just remembered I left my lunch at home, Ms. Mills.”

“Well next time, remember that quietly, okay?” She nodded and the class moved on

“I know you don’t ever bring lunch, you don’t even have a home.” Lilith snickered, leaning over her desk to the back of his seat. “You’re a liar.” 

Sam stares straight ahead, a smirk crawling over his face. “Maybe if you buy me lunch, I’ll buy you better insults.” 

“Insults are free, but probably you still can’t afford them.” She hissed.

He turned around to glare at her. “Shutting up is free too, but you can’t seem to be able to afford that, despite how much you brag about how much richer you are than me.” 

“I can’t wait to leave here, next year I’m going to an all-girls boarding school.” Lilith smiled sickly. “Even if it were boys and girls, I still wouldn’t have to see you every day. Because you have to pay to get in.”

“Lilith, they also require intelligence, so I doubt you’ll last long there. But I won’t question their judgment, I’m just glad you’re leaving.”

“Sam, Lilith, please pay attention, I’d hate to hand out all the test grades and inconveniently misplace your tests, and have to give you both an F.” She stacked the papers on her desk, looking at them both. “I can separate you two if the class is amenable to moving seats tomorrow.”

“No, they’re the most entertaining thing in here!” Ruby groaned. 

They looked at her oddly.

“What? I think it's funny watching them fight” She looked around at the class who nodded along with her. 

“You guys are weird,” Sam shook his head.

“For once, I agree.” Lilith rolled her eyes.

“Hey! Okay, class!” Jody clapped her hands to get their attention. ”Let’s stay out of this, and stay on track. Test scores will be handed out, and no more side conversations. That goes for everyone in here.”

-

“Now, as this class has gone on, it appears that many of you did not do the homework, so it’s time for a few simple questions on the content Shelley’s ‘ Ozymandias .’” Their aging English teacher, Professor Ishim, leaned on the front of his desk. “It’s nothing serious, boys, we’re just going over a few things.”

They groaned. 

“We’ll start as easy as possible. What is the poem about? Gadreel?” 

He stared ahead blankly, mouth gaping open like a fish.

“Well, it has already become eminent who has and hasn’t done the assigned reading. Michael, can you answer the question?”

He smiled smugly, “Yes sir, it’s about this statue of a king in the desert, and it’s crumbling and at the bottom of it, there’s an inscription that says, uh-“ he turned a shade of pink as he struggled to remember. “Um, ‘ye mighty-‘ er-“

The class snickered as he chewed his lip, staring at the ceiling.

“Can anyone here help Michael remember what he read in the summary of the poem since he seems to not have read the actual work?” Their professor searched the room. “Anyone?”

The snickering was stifled quickly. 

“‘ Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair! ’” He dictated out to the class, “but can anyone tell me what this means?”

They mumbled into their books, all unsure of the answer. 

“Is this room 116?” Dean poked his head in the door. “I’m looking for- oh, sorry.”

The class stared at him blankly. Castiel sat in the back corner, lips tightly pressed together. His swollen eye already attracted enough attention, he didn’t need Dean adding to that. 

The professor checked the clock without noticing. “Well it looks like class will be ending soon, so I suppose we won’t have time for the questions. ‘Ozymandias’ is homework if you haven’t done it already, and if you don’t feel like doing the work- just don’t bother going to class, and take the failing grade.”

The boys packed up their papers and textbooks and flooded out of the room, glancing at Dean as he stuck himself to the hallway walls. Castiel shoved past him without a look, pushing onward to his next class. 

“Hey, Castiel!” He yelled, following behind him.

“What?” He snapped and spun around, stopping in the commotion of the hallway. 

“You left this,” He handed him the purple book.

“I don’t want it, you can keep it.” He said, absentmindedly rubbing his bruised eye. 

“It’s yours, you should have it. It’s really cool, but I don’t understand it anyway.” Dean shoved it into his hands. “That sonnet stuff doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”

He flipped to the bookmarked page and rolled his eyes, “It’s just a Petrarchan sonnet, nothing too complicated.”

“A what?”

“Petrarchan.”

“I swear that’s a kind of dinosaur.”

Castiel sighed, “Fine, I’ll explain it to you since you obviously need help. Meet me at the bench I left it on at 11 o’clock tonight.”

“Thank you,” Dean smiled radiantly.

Castiel looked like he was about to respond with another scathing remark, but Lucifer, Michael, and Gabriel caught his eye and started walking over. 

“Dean Winchester?” Gabriel smirked, “are you here to get your ass kicked again?”

“He’s just giving me this back. I lost it.” Castiel shoved the book under his arm. 

“You lost it?” Gabriel raised an eye. “You were so passionate about how great it was, and you lost it?”

Luci cut him off, “So this is the infamous Dean Winchester. I’ve heard a bit about you.”

“Infamous?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, with all the drinking, fighting, women, and whatnot.” Michael waved his hand dismissively. “I see you’re all pals with him now, but he’s a bit strange, I don’t know if you noticed.”

“What do you mean?” Dean tilted his head to the side. 

“Michael, I thought we were done with this.” Gabriel glared sharply at him. “Let’s go, we’re going to be late for class.”

Dean stared at Castiel, with the question sitting on the back of his tongue, waiting for the compulsion to leave his lips. 

Castiel sensed this and brushed off the question before he spoke. “It’s nothing, leave me alone. I’ve got to go to class.”

Dean rubbed his arm self consciously. “Um, see you at 11, I guess.” 

“It’s a date,” Michael silently mouthed to Castiel. 

“Shut up!” He hissed back as they walked down the hallway. 

He felt himself getting a little red in the face and looked back over his shoulder. Dean waved awkwardly as he was stranded in the sea of students. 

-

Heads turned in the cafeteria, a few leaning to neighbors to whisper as Dean slunk back into the school.

“Oh, he’s finally come back to join us,” Gordon Walker smiled mischievously. “Welcome back to the bachelor’s life.”

“You’re not sitting with Lisa anymore?” Benny gestured to the empty spot on the bench. “What happened to your face?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Ash looked over at her table, awkwardly locking eyes with Jo. “They broke up.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Dean sat down next to him. “It was a mutual decision in the end.”

“They broke up at a party when Dean came late and Lisa was kissing another guy, some boarding school asshole, and so Dean and the guy get in a fight. That’s why he’s all beat up. After that, Dean and Lisa start arguing and they broke up,” said Gordon. 

Garth opened his milk carton. “That sounds rough, man.”

“I’m doing alright.” He nodded. 

In the corner of the lunchroom, the principal spotted him. She made her way through the tables, putting on her ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed’ face.

He saw her coming towards the table and said, “or maybe I’m not. Hello, Amara.”

“Dean, why don’t you and I chat for a minute?” She smiled. “In my office.”

“Sure.” He grabbed his backpack and stood up. “See you on the other side, boys.”

He followed her out of the cafeteria, into her sadly familiar office. He gave a nod to a petrified looking freshman sitting on the bench outside. He sat down in the chair across from her desk. 

“What happened this weekend?” She gave him a concerned look. 

“It wasn’t my dad.” He settled into the chair, seemingly casual. “You don’t have to try and be my friggin’ mother. Is that all you wanted to talk about, Amara?”

“You and I really shouldn’t be on a first-name basis already, or until you graduate, but no, that’s not all.” She sighed deeply, rolling her eyes, then maintained her composure by folding her hands in front of herself in a dignified businesslike manner. “You skipped school. Is there anything you’d like to say about that?”

He smirked, “Yeah, I had a great time.”

“Why is it that you feel the need to skip school? Is it a family issue, or is the school too stressful?”

“I wanted to see a friend- well, not a friend, he’s just sort of a guy.”

“Sort of a guy? Tell me more.”

“It’s not important, I don’t think you need to know.” He folded his hands in his lap.

“I’d like to know, just to get to know what’s going on with you.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to be my mother.” 

“What, is he some kind of drug dealer? Because we have a policy at this school-“

“If he was my drug dealer I wouldn’t tell you anyway. I’m not stupid.” He rolled his eyes.

“Look, I just need you to care about school.” She rubbed her temples, clearly frustrated with him. “You have the potential to go on to do better things in life. You’re intelligent enough, you just don’t apply that in school.”

“Amara, the thing is, I really don’t care all that much.” He leaned back in his chair with an air of complacency and arrogance. “I’ll be out of this town in a few weeks or so, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

She opened up the bottom drawer in her desk, with a couple of files that contained the behavior records, grades, and attendance of the habitués of her office.“I know you’re insistent on not caring or trying, but if your grades and attendance don’t improve by the end of the semester, you’ll flunk.”

“I’ll be at a new school by then.”

“The grade will follow you there, and if the attitude does too, the same thing will happen. I’m not the one deciding this, it’ll just be the same problem at a different school. I suggest you start trying while you’re at a school with an unusually lenient principal.” She pulled out the thick file with his name written on it. “And if your attendance gets any worse, you could flunk as well. You’re dangerously close.”

He stared at his toes, trying to hide his face.

“You’re about three detentions away from the same fate.” She closed the folder and began writing on the pink pad on her desk. “Unfortunately that is now two.”

With a clean rip, she tore it off and handed it to him. Accepting the slip, Dean furrowed his brow and stared a hole in the wall next to her head.

“You skipped school, I can’t make exceptions.” She set down her pen and folded her hands on the desk. “If you stay in school and out of trouble, improve your grades to at least passing, I’ll allow you to join sports teams. What did you do at your last school?”

“Wrestling?” He leaned forward with an edge of anxiety in his voice. “What do you mean, you’ll allow me?”

“Oh, yes, well, I’m suspending you from sports teams and extracurricular activities for the time being to motivate you to improve. If you can get anywhere above a D in all your classes, then you can join your activities.”

“That isn’t fair, that just discourages me from participating at all-“

“Well. You enjoy extracurriculars, don’t you? You’ll want them back.” She raised her eyebrow at him, putting away the folder. “There are real consequences for failing grades, and I’m not playing favorites this time. You can either show rapid improvement or watch the games from the sidelines.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“That’s how everyone else at this school is treated, Dean.” She looked up at the clock. “I think it’s time for you to go back to lunch.”

Dean snatched his backpack from under the seat and stormed out without a word. In the hallway he paused and balled up the detention slip, throwing it against the wall in his anger. The freshman sitting on the bench was frozen with a shocked expression on his face. He stalked back into the cafeteria and sat down at the lunch table. 

Ash inquired about the meeting with a simple word, “So?”

“I can’t do sports anymore.”

“What?” Gordon dropped his fork. “Wrestling season is about to start, you were fucking great, you should be allowed to join.”

“I know, that’s what I said.” He shrugged. “It’s a punishment for failing, but it’s supposed to ‘motivate me.’”

“What a bummer,” Ash groaned. “What are you supposed to do?”

“I have to get my grades back up.”

The table groaned, then the bell rang. 

“Have fun putting your nose to the grindstone all semester,” Garth grabbed his bag. “We’ve got English together, right Dean.”

He shrugged. “I think so, but I’ll have to start actually going to class soon.”

Amara waved at him across the room. 

“Soon as in now.” He waved back.

They pushed through the hallway to the English classroom, sliding into their seats before the last rush of students arrived with the bell. 

“Dean, I’m glad you finally decided to join us again,” Ms. Hanscum walked past Dean’s desk in the back. “Will you be participating, or taking a nap?”

“I’ll be doing my best to participate.” He nodded stiffly. 

“Good! Go get a textbook.” 

Dean did as he was told and sat down as the class began. 

“Alright kiddos, take out your notebooks and your textbooks.” She set out a book on his desk. “Make sure to put your name and the date on the top of your page. We’ll be reading ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’ aloud and writing down questions as we listen. Who wants to volunteer to read?”

He snatched up a piece of lined paper and wrote at the top,  Dean Winchester, Monday, October 14th, 1963, The Lake Isle of Innisfree . Dean grumbled silently to himself as he settled into his seat for the rest of class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I figured out the notes issue it’s all good but I also stayed up to post another chapter. I swear I’ll watch 15x20 I’m not using this to procrastinate the inevitable end of the show I promise ahah
> 
> Anyways I also promise I’ll stop bothering people and start being more story-oriented with the notes. 
> 
> Ugh I just realized NONE of the italics transferred to AO3 that’s so frustrating dhhdjskdk I just have to trust that you all understand the inflections through telepathy or something idk :/


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT WHAT THE FRESH FUCKING HELL WAS THAT. WHERE WAS CAS?? WHERE WAS HE? FUCK. What in the fuckity fuck was that??? Just- ???? So glad I only write AUs because fuck canon idk what just happened. Anyways catch me out here expecting cas to show up in the last 30 seconds,,, this is why my parents almost sent me to clown college in Switzerland. But can anybody say anticlimactic?? Wow I- I might actually publish this as a novel because the writing seems great by comparison. Just kidding I really liked some parts of the finale, but, some parts were just,,, ass. Apologies for putting this at the beginning I just hehdjdkxkxbxn that was so.... I don’t even wanna label it I refuse to perceive that. Anyways Becky was RIGHT all along this SUCKS ASS. Change of plans no more adult repressed homosexuality in the last half I’m letting Cas go FULL FRUIT up in this bitch no super hell it’s gay time all the time for him he earned it go be gay you funky little angel

It was nearly 15 minutes past 10, and Dean was getting cold. He looked over his shoulder, searching the dark corners of the park. He bounced his leg anxiously, then forced himself to stop. He couldn’t be on time for Lisa, but now he was on time for Castiel, who didn’t even like him. Now it was his turn to wait, as his penance for screwing up with her. At least he wasn’t dating Castiel.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel seemed to appear out of thin air behind him. “I’m sorry that I’m late, my roommate was being difficult to sneak away from tonight.”

He stood up, “Jesus, you scared me.”

“I’m not Jesus.”

“You know what I mean.” 

Castiel sat down on the bench and opened up the book without another word. Dean sat on the other end of the bench, facing Castiel.

“So let’s start with basic terms.” He looked at Dean with a piercing stare. “This is a book of sonnets. Sonnet comes from the Italian word  sonnetto , which means ‘little song.’ It has 14 lines and is written in iambic pentameter. Do you know what that is?”

“Vaguely. It’s... five of something, and it’s how you stress the syllables in poetry. Right?”

“Mostly correct. Ten syllables that make up five ‘feet.’” He nodded meditatively dragging a thumb over the rough edges of the paper. “There are varying kinds of sonnets, like Petrarchan and Shakespearean. Essentially, they just use different rhyme schemes.”

“I kind of get it.” He nodded. “So, where’d you find this book, anyway?”

“I think we should focus on what’s in the book, not where I found it.”

“Fine.” Dean folded his arms. “I assume the book wasn’t yours originally, it’s got someone else’s name in it.”

“I think that’s fairly clear to see.”

“So anyway, where’d you find it?”

Castiel sighed and relented, “it was a gift I wasn’t supposed to open. It was probably from a flea market. It came in a nice box though, but my friends made fun of me about it.”

“If they make fun of you, are they really your friends?” Dean looked up at Castiel and said, “you might need new ones.”

“I’m not in a position to pick and choose who I hang out with.” He straightened his tie. “And I’m starting to think they could be right about what they said.”

“Whatever it is, don’t let it get to you, it’s not worth throwing out this book.” 

“You know, I didn’t want it at first, but I think I’ve gotten a little attached now.”

“Yeah, I understand completely. It grows on you.” He smiled. “It’s a special book, like a little window into someone’s soul.”

Castiel’s eyes connected with Dean’s for a second, flicking away as soon as they noticed. 

Dean cleared his throat. “So, this sonnet you bookmarked, ‘An Old Love Song,’ what’s it about?”

“I think it’s just about being in love.” He opened up the book, scooting across the bench so Dean could read over his shoulder. “Just, how wonderful it is to be in love with somebody. I don’t know exactly, but I feel it.”

“It fits with the iambic pentameter pretty well.” Dean leaned over, almost touching Castiel’s arm. “As if upon my heart-strings softly played by angel hands unseen-“

“Through all the dead sweet years that lie between, there comes the music of a serenade.” Castiel let his voice jump into the halting rhythm. “Of olden dreams the melody is made.”

Dean slouched over the book, letting his chin brush Castiel’s shoulder and dripping the emphasis of the rhythm. “Of violets that bloom amid the green; And like a benediction, calm, serene-“

“A gentle peace upon my soul is laid.” Castiel said very softly and looked over at him, then cleared his throat, straightening his tie. “And then you can see it goes on, following the pattern, and so on. How about you pick one to read? I haven’t looked at any of the others yet.”

“Yeah, sure, sure.” He opened the book to a random page, still staring at Castiel. “Uh this is called, ‘Violets’ and uh, this is it:

I hold thy violets against my face

And breathe the haunting, purple scent

That fills my weary heart with sweet content

And lays upon my soul a chrismal grace;

The air around me for a little space

Is heavy with the fragrance they have lent,

And every passing wind that heaven-ward went

Has held thy blossoms in a close embrace

I think I love violets best of all

Because of that hushed sweetness, far and faint

As star-dust through the darkness dimly sown;

Forever do they hold my sense in thrall,

My spirit kneels as to some imaged saint-

For they- and thou- were made to be my own .”

Castiel held his breath, becoming embarrassingly aware of how their fingers both cradled the spine of the book, touching in a torturously delicate and unintentional manner. He moved his fingers to the edge of the cover, hoping Dean hadn’t noticed anything at all.

When Dean stiffened, Castiel panicked and pulled back his hand abruptly. 

“Sorry, I just remembered I needed to pick up groceries.” He stood up. “Sorry this was really short, I just have to run to the store.”

“Um, yes, that’s fine.” Castiel tucked the book under his arm. “I can go with you, if-“

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure.”

“Lead the way.”

“You know, I think it just slipped my mind, I unsuccessfully tried to skip out on detention this afternoon,” Dean said as they walked through the park. “I must be distracted lately.”

“Detention? What for?”

“Skipping school.”

“And you tried to skip that?” 

They stepped off the leaf-strewn grass and walked down the sidewalk together.

“Yeah, my grades are the pits, it couldn’t get any friggin’ worse.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not even allowed to join the wrestling team anymore.”

“Oh, yeah, wrestling.” 

“Sorry.”

“No, look, if you need me to be sort of a tutor for you or something, I’m open to it.” He stepped off the curb into the crosswalk. 

“Nah, I’m set.” He said, glaring at a car that was inching into the crosswalk. 

“Are you sure?” Castiel put the book into his coat pocket. “I’d be happy to help out.”

Dean rolled his neck around, then relented. “Fine. But I don’t  need help.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Castiel replied, “how about we meet in the same place at 10, once a week? Every Monday night?”

“Sounds good.” He drifted across the sidewalk to the glass doors of the grocery store. “Follow me, do what I do, and don’t ask questions.”

“What?” Castiel followed him through the sliding glass doors. 

Dean didn’t answer and picked up a shopping basket. He wandered past the cheap flower arrangements in the corner of the store to the produce section and put a head of lettuce in the wire basket. 

“You got cash on you?” He asked, quickly moving into a different aisle. 

Castiel shook his head. “No, what are you doing?”

“A little something called the five-finger discount.” Dean stepped into the canned foods aisles. 

“Shoplifting?” Castiel’s shocked expression looked lopsided on account of his swollen eye, but he got the message across.

“Say it louder please,” Dean hissed, “I don’t think they can hear you at the police station as well!”

He picked up a can of soup and put it into Castiel’s pocket. 

“I’m not going to be an accomplice to a crime!” He whispered. “Stealing is wrong!”

“Wow, you have deep pockets.” Dean marveled and dragged Castiel along with him. “Why don’t you try and think of it as stickin’ it to the man, a little rebellion, or whatever helps you sleep at night. Why is it fair for big companies to have all this stuff and not give it to people who need it? It’s civil disobedience.”

He slipped a tuna can into Castiel’s pocket.

“That isn’t civil disobedience! Why would you even want that?” He whispered and straightened his tie. “You sound like a communist and you act like a girl.”

“I act like a girl?” He paused in disbelief. “What does that even mean? And I’m not a communist, by the way.”

“Shoplifting is something girls do,” Castiel held his hands up defensively. “You know, like makeup and stuff, I don’t know.”

“No, it’s something poor people do because they can’t fucking afford this kind of stuff.” He pointed to the canned vegetables. “Does this look like makeup to you? I don’t do this for fun, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“Just don’t fuck this up for me.” Dean turned and led him down the aisle. “Try and make some use of that coat, I’ve got to go buy some milk. 

Castiel’s face went pale. “Don’t leave me here, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Then shut up and watch me.”

Castiel followed him around stiffly. Dean would occasionally put something in his basket; bread, eggs, milk, but when he felt no one was watching, he would drop something small into his pocket or slip it up his sleeve. Dean dropped the small block of cheese hidden in his sleeve into the pocket of his jacket and gave Castiel a nod. In the frozen food section, Dean picked out a couple of TV dinners and looked around the aisle. From that aisle, he could see the cashiers. A woman passing by gave them an odd look as she pushed her shopping cart by, staring at Castiel’s eye. Dean glared at her and put them into the basket. They looked at the floor and shuffled away to a different aisle. Feeling his heart race, Castiel picked up a box of cereal and tucked it into his jacket. When he turned around he saw Dean smoothing his shirt and straightening his posture. He motioned to the cash register, and they went to check out. Dean set the basket up on the cash register, making brief, polite conversation with the cashier. Castiel stood behind him tuning this out and refusing to make eye contact with the cashier. He felt sweat beginning to form on his forehead while Dean handed the cashier a couple of dollars and took his change. While he handed them a paper bag, the cashier gave them a concerned look, and Dean gently pushed Castiel out of the store. 

“You look  very stressed.” Dean guided him by the shoulders, cradling the paper bag under his arm.

“I feel awful,” muttered Castiel. “I don’t like this kind of stuff.” 

Dean gave him a look- as if to ask why. 

“I don’t like it,” he repeated. 

“I make you do that again then.”

They quickened their pace back to the park and set the paper bag down on the bench. Castiel dropped the box of cereal onto the bench and sat down. Dean lifted his shirt and pulled out the TV dinners tucked into the front of his pants. 

“My god, that was cold.” He shook his shirt with a shiver. “It was a nice ice pack for the bruises for a while, but- god!”

While he slid those into the side of the paper bag, Castiel sat in a little shock. 

“How did you-“ he shook his head. “No, it doesn’t matter. 

Dean sat down and put the bag in his lap, rearranging the eggs and bread around the block of cheese he fit into it. Castiel handed him the can of soup and can of tuna, which he arranged to be underneath the lettuce and next to the milk. 

“That’s a good haul,” Dean set the bag next to the cereal. “We spent a dollar twenty-five, and now I’ve got seventy-five cents left for next week. The rest would have cost us about three dollars.” 

“You only have two dollars for food?”

“You know, taking you on this has been embarrassing enough already, you don’t have to rub it in.”

“Oh, my apologies.” 

“You know what? It’s fine.” He took a deep breath and gathered the bag up. “I should get home before the TV dinners melt and the bag breaks, it’s getting a little wet at the bottom.”

Castiel helped him tuck the cereal under his arm. 

“See you ‘round.” Dean started to wave, but caught the bag in his arms and repositioned his groceries. “Uh- bye, Castiel.”

“Goodbye, Dean. See you next week.” He smiled and shuffled off through the leaves back to his school. 

Dean turned around and whispered to himself as he walked away, “I waved? I was six inches from his face and I friggin’ waved?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK CANON FUCK MY SLEEP SCHEDULE FUCK THAT WHOLE “I don’t own any characters in supernatural nor am I affiliated with the writers” or whatever I’m sure as hell not affiliated with the writers but the characters are MINE now I wrote them and it is shitty headcanon hours up in the notes babey!!
> 
> This will serve as a record of my decent into madness, won’t it?
> 
> (Apologies for the rant that ended up being longer than the chapter, which is already super short)


	7. Chapter 7

The leaves were damp and slippery, and the wind was bitter with the cold. It had rained throughout the dreary Monday, but the clouds had begun to pass over and reveal the moon. Everything was wet and glittering with the moonlight. 

“Hi Castiel, did I keep you waiting?” Dean staggered up to the bench, slipping on leaves.

“Oh, no, I was just standing here because the bench was wet.” He turned around, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I love the rain but it can be quite inconvenient at times.” 

“Oh, yeah, how are we gonna sit down now?” Dean scratched his head.

“Well, I don’t know if I told you this, but my friends like to smoke in this storage room down the hall from my room. They’re kind of, social smokers, but anyways, it’s late, so I don’t think anyone would be in there at this hour.” He walked down the pathway through the park, gesturing for Dean to follow. 

He trailed behind Castiel on the path, shuffling piles of leaves out of the way. Dean looked up at the stars as he walked, admiring the finally cleared sky. They walked through the park silently, just taking in the scenery, the bright leaves still left on the trees, sparkling with raindrops.

“So, in my first months at this school, I got the reputation of a trouble maker.” Castiel straightened his tie again. “I’ve spent the years since then trying to follow the rules as strictly as possible. The headmaster is always out to get me, so he’ll just tell me my tie isn’t straight so I get a dress code violation. He puts me in a with the students that are a bad influence, and he gives me the room that is the easiest to sneak out of.”

“You follow the rules?” Dean laughed, “All that shoplifted food and the bruise on my stomach where you kneed me say otherwise.”

“Firstly, I did that to help you- Secondly, is your stomach really bruised from that?” He stopped walking and turned around.

“Yup.” He lifted his shirt, showing Castiel his stomach. “It turned green yesterday, but it’s getting more yellow.”

Castiel grimaced. Dean dropped his shirt self-consciously. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh it’s fine,” Dean shrugged, walking alongside him now. “So how far is your school?”

“Not too far, we’re very small, so we don’t have a huge campus or anything, it’s just a street leading to a big driveway with a gate.” He said as they crossed the sidewalk. 

In a few minutes, they reached a vine-covered wall that circled the school. Castiel silently gestured for Dean to follow him into a patch of trees covered in the surrounding vines. He reached the wall and plunged his hand into the ivy, then carefully creaked open a rusted wooden door. The front was covered in ivy, and the doorway on the other side was covered by a curtain of vines. Dean pushed them aside to discover the old buildings that made up the school. He held his breath and stepped out onto the grass. 

Castiel delicately shut the little gateway, then whispered to Dean, “come on, we can’t stay outside very long.”

The boys sprinted across the grass, ducking behind the stone pillars that flanked the heavy front door. Dean reached out a hand to the door, but Castiel slapped it, making a slashing motion across his throat. 

“You’ll get caught, I nearly did before.” he hissed, “just follow me.” 

He stepped up to the little wall that supported the pillars, grabbed onto the gutter, and quietly climbed up onto the roof overhang. Dean did the same, struggling to keep quiet. 

Castiel pointed to the window next to them that was halfway open and motioned inside. They climbed down onto a desk by the window, nearly slipping on the papers scattered across it. Dean almost left a boot print on a newly typed essay. He looked over at Gabriel, asleep in an awkward position with his sheets spilling off the bed. They clambered down and edged into the hallway as quietly as possible. The floorboards creaked under their shoes and Dean’s boots squeaked quietly. They eased their way down the hall into the storage room.

Dean settled down on a suitcase, observing the room around him. 

Castiel sighed, “you’ll get used to it the more you sneak in.

“So if this is a school of delinquent teens, how come you can sneak out so easily?” 

“It’s not a delinquent school, my friends are just... rambunctious. And the school is not very well funded or secure.” He threw his coat on the ground. “The school is perfect for sneaking out, and I got the perfect place to do it, I’ve just never let myself. It feels like a test, almost.”

“Fuckin’ A.” Dean nodded. “That sounds pretty annoying.”

“Yeah, but I get by.” He pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of the pocket of his coat on the floor. “I made a list of poets we could read whenever you come over here.”

“Oh, awesome.” He took the list from Castiel, and read the names in sharp pencil-written letters. “Walt Whitman, Oscar Wilde, Lord Byron, Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost, John Keats, and Percy Bis- uh- Byesh-“

“Bysshe.”

“Percy Bysshe Shelley,” Dean corrected himself. “Like bitch?”

“Yes, a little bit.” Castiel dug through his coat pockets again. “So, I brought a book, I think we should go over just a few of the more notable works.” He produced a worn green book, flipping to a page he bookmarked. “Here.”

“‘She walks in Beauty’ by Lord Byron.” He balanced the book on his knee, glancing at Castiel quickly. “ She walks in beauty, like the night 

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; 

And all that’s best of dark and bright 

Meet in her aspect and her eyes; 

Thus mellowed to that tender light 

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 

Had half impaired the nameless grace 

Which waves in every raven tress, 

Or softly lightens o’er her face; 

Where thoughts serenely sweet express, 

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 

The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 

But tell of days in goodness spent, 

A mind at peace with all below, 

A heart whose love is innocent! ”

Dean had been unaware, but Castiel had moved to sit on the suitcase next to him. He turned his head to the presence at his shoulder. 

“Uh, Castiel?” Dean was decidedly nervous. “Personal space?”

“Right, sorry.” He moved back to the suitcase across from Dean. “It was good, though. It’s written in iambic tetrameter, which is like iambic pentameter, but it’s four feet.”

“Feet?”

“Eight syllables.”

“Oh right, yeah.” He closed the book. “It’s a weird name though.”

Dean tossed the book to Castiel, who fumbled for it, almost dropped it, then put it down on his trench coat. 

“Yeah, it is.” He hastily straightened his tie, but only made it stick out to an awkward angle. “I think it was written about his cousin’s wife in the early seventeenth century. He kneeled over his coat, digging for something else. “I’ve got another book I think we should read. Walt Whitman’s  Leaves of Grass .”

”Why did he write a book about grass?”

”You’re kidding, right?” Castiel shoved the book into his hands.

“Only partly.” He smirked.

He opened to the page Castiel had marked with a scrap of notebook paper.

“Why do I have to read it? I hate reading aloud, I always stumble over my words.” Dean complained.

“That’s just not true. You should read aloud more often.” Castiel tapped Dean’s forehead. “Reading aloud is an important part of learning and memorizing, it gets the concepts and language into your head.”

“All I’m saying is that you’re perfectly capable of reading unless your mouth is reserved for Lisa Braeden instead of Walt Whitman.” Dean’s smirk peeled away as soon as the words left the tip of his tongue. “You know what, that was a bad joke. We can joke around right? You understand jokes?”

“Yes, of course. Friends make fun of each other all the time. They also beat each other up.” Castiel said flatly. He blinked. “You realize I’m joking, right? Was that not a good joke?”

“What? Oh- no- god, I couldn’t tell for a second- I- oh man, you just said it so... You know, I’ve never heard you tell a joke before.” Dean’s stammering gave way to a softer tone. “It was funny. You’ve got a dry sense of humor. I like that.”

“I know we’ve only known each other a short time, less than a month, but I think we’re beginning to become friends, oddly enough.” A smile twitched at his lips. 

“Well uh, don’t get too attached.” Dean looked at his shoes, feeling flustered and ashamed. “I’m probably going to move soon, I’ve already been here a while. But I have to get my grades up before then, so let’s make the most of our time, you dig?”

“Yes. I- erm,  dig . But if you want to improve your grades in all subjects, I doubt I could help.” 

“I’ll be fine.” He shrugged. “My friend Charlie is pretty good at science and math, I could ask for her help- if she’ll talk to me. And my brother is a big history buff, so all I have to do is survive woodshop, gym, and all that.”

“That’s good.” He straightened his tie. “Now quit trying to distract me, and just read it.”

“Am I trying to distract you?”

“Read.”

The rain had begun to patter at the roof, leaking in through the warped wood frame of the tiny window. 

Dean groaned, then read out in a slow monotone, “O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring, of endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, of my self reproaching-“

“No, Dean, the poem is about life, not boring the life out of people.” Castiel stood up.

Dean looked up at him. “It’s boring the life out of me.”

“Come on.” Castiel gestured over his shoulder, heading to the door of the storage room. 

Dean stood up, stooped over to avoid the low angle of the vaulted ceiling. The slanted wood roof on either side of the door made a haven for spiderwebs and no room for him to stand up on either side. Castiel, who was slightly shorter, only ducked his head. Dean followed him into the hallway again, straightening out his back as they slunk across the polished hardwood floors. Castiel turned to the window overlooking the courtyard. He unlatched it and slid it open easily. Unlike the rest of the windows and doors in the school, it seemed to be frequently opened to the point where it was almost silent. 

He explained, whispering in Dean’s ear, “this is how everyone else sneaks out, instead of using my window.”

He clambered out, sitting down on the roof of the covered walkway that surrounded a small brick courtyard. Dean followed suit, carrying the book under his arm. They climbed out further to a little flat spot on the roof, covered in soggy leaves and puddles. 

“Now, I want you to read the poem, and not just read it, declare it.” Castiel stepped back.

“Yell it?”

“If you feel like it. Do whatever your heart desires.” He pulled on his tie, loosening it. 

Dean cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back as if he were preparing to tackle Castiel off the roof. 

He began by raising his voice, wavering between talking and whispering, “‘Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish-“

Castiel gave him a stern look, and Dean drew up his posture, forcing himself to project his voice across the lawn.

“Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,” He seemed to grow with his voice, holding his free arm out to show some invisible crowd with them on the roof. In the rain, he crackled and sparked with emotion for a second, a feeling of unbridled joy overtook his fears. He was soaked, but still beaming. He felt powerful. then suddenly shrunk back to just a lost boy on the roof in the rain. “Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?’”

Castiel took a step forward, dripping with rainwater.

“‘A-answer.’” He spoke softly to the book that was now spattered with rain. “That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”

He waited, stunned and paralyzed, letting the rain beat into him. Castiel rushed forward, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and shaking him. “You had it! For a second, you really had it, Dean!”

“Had what?” He hung Castiel’s slippery trench coat sleeve 

“The passion! This electric look, you could feel it, I can tell.” He rambled excitedly. “I could feel it I swear, radiating off of you! You were like Lear in a tempest, like a lion, like, like, a god or something! This is what poetry is all about!”

“Okay?” He nodded nervously. “Does the passion require me to catch pneumonia from being out in the rain at midnight?”

Castiel laughed, “no, but this is good. You’re getting it. I can tell!”

“Right on.” He grinned. 

They stood, hunched over in soaking clothes, waiting to move. 

“So Dean, why did you lose momentum?” Castiel raised his voice. “Right at the end, you just faltered.”

“Cause you looked at me weird.” He shrugged. “I felt like- you know that feeling when you tip your chair back too far and lose your balance?”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Right then it occurred to me that I wasn’t a god or whatever, and I could fall off the roof.” Dean rubbed his neck. “You were just so close and... nevermind, I’m not sure, I’m just rambling.”

The clouds shifted away from the moon, and the rain pattered away to a light mist, leaving the world glistening at the two boys stood on the roof. The grass was shining with a reflection of the stars, and the rooftops shimmered. 

“It’s all really beautiful, you know?” Dean craned his neck up at the moon. 

“Yeah,” Castiel mumbled.

“I know I oughta go, but do you wanna just sit here a while?” He looked over at Castiel, giving a little smile.

He nodded, stretching out his legs on the roof. Dean sat next to him, folding his hands in his lap. 

Castiel took off his coat. “You said you could catch pneumonia out in the cold, you might want to stay warm.”

Dean scooted in closer. 

“Thanks, but shouldn’t you have it? You could get sick just as easily as I can.”

“Share it?”

“Okay,” Dean said, feeling his stomach flutter, then covered by joking. “Then we’ll catch pneumonia together.”

Castiel draped his coat over their shoulders, letting his arm fall on Dean’s waist. Dean felt his chest tighten inexplicably and changed the subject before the silence could settle. 

“This book is ruined.” Dean held the soaked book up by the spine; it fell heavy and limp like a dead bird. 

“That’s too bad.” Castiel laid the pages out flat on his knee. “There were a lot of good poems in this book. I liked Whitman’s ideas about contradiction and identity- I think he’s very self-aware.”

“All that stuff makes my head spin.”

“I understand.” He nodded. “Being fully self-aware is painful. Accepting the truth about yourself, the good and the bad can be the most terrifying thing you ever do.”

“You make my head spin.” Dean let his head rest on Castiel’s shoulder, looking up at the stars. 

Letting the feeling of anxiety in his stomach subside, Castiel let the world revolve around them for a moment. Unspeakable feelings would remain so, but Castiel was contented to let life go unspoken. Time felt drawn out, and yet racing by them as the world went silent. In that minute, they lived in naive ignorance of painful things, the things that could never be spoken, and the life that danced just out of his grasp. Chasing that idea of that life was like chasing stars; no matter how close you think you can get, they will always be across the universe.

“You’re really quiet,” Dean whispered, uncomfortable to be left alone with his thoughts. 

“Everything is so quiet after it rains,” Castiel whispered, “especially at night. It’s like the world is holding its breath before the sun comes out. All the birds and the bugs just decide to take a minute to shut up and think.”

Castiel’s limbs felt like lead to Dean, weighing down on him with a noticeable presence that he couldn’t ignore.

“It’s weird.” He looked up at Castiel without moving his head. “There’s a dorm full of guys right in there, but I feel so alone with you right now.”

“That’s how it should be. People just staying up late and talking to each other, watching the stars, reading poetry for fun, and never having to worry about anything other than that.” He sighed, looking up at the sky. “This is as good as it gets.”

“You know, I’ve lived in big cities where you can hardly see stars at all,” Dean muttered, “but out here... it’s breathtaking.”

“You’ve traveled a lot- where are the best stars?” Castiel smiled, resting his head on Dean’s. 

“I prefer seeing stars up close, so I’d have to say Hollywood.” He smirked. “I can’t ask Orion for an autograph if he’s up in the sky.”

“Very funny.” He rolled his eyes, trying not to smile.

“Ok, honestly?” Dean turned his head to face Castiel, inches from his face. “My dad took me and my brother to Sedona, Arizona one summer. My dad took us hiking out in the desert, made us set up camp and wait until dark, with no explanation. And when nighttime rolled around, I was scared as hell.”

“Why?”

“The stars were terrifying. The sky is so huge and unknown, and it’s scary to take it in all at once. The stars there are so beautiful, cried a little.” His voice was hushed and reverent. ”I mean, you can just see everything in the sky, and it makes you feel so terrified. You suddenly become aware of how insignificant you are compared to everybody else in the universe. I could feel my heart trying to break out of my chest and run away into the sky. It was like looking up into heaven.”

Castiel glanced at the moon. “I’d like to see that with you one day if you think you can handle going back.”

“Oh I can handle it just fine, I don’t think you’re ready for your mind to be totally blown.” Dean smiled smugly, regaining his composure.

“I think I can handle it.” Castiel looked up at the sky. “Constellations will stay the same no matter what.”

The two of them sat there, talking softly, laughing, and matching up constellations until the pink fingers of dawn peered over the horizon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey here’s a finale hot take that’s totally unrelated to the story:  
> I know 15x19 also sucked, but I think it would have made a better last episode. 15x20 didn’t really resolve any plot points left open in the end, and 15x19 would still be a shitty finale but at least it would have understood basic plot structure. I would have been super upset either way but at least we wouldn’t have to sit through carry on my wayward son twice in a row. Like seriously, once is all you need. 
> 
> Alright after this I promise I’ll shut up and talk about the story


	8. Chapter 8

Lost in his own thoughts, Dean sat in the hallway during lunch now. He leaned up against a locker and absently flipped through notebooks. He barely tried to focus and would spend his lunch just flipping through empty pages. Today, he struggled through the same three pages of  Youth by Joseph Conrad. 

He heard the soft footfalls of someone walking down the hall. He looked up, on instinct, immediately regretting it, because he had lost his place again. Charlie leaned on the locker, looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, so you’re reading books now?” She said. 

“Trying.” He sighed. “I can’t make sense of any of this junk.”

“Why are you bothering with that stuff then?”

“I’m trying to improve my grades, why are you bothering talking to me?”

“I think it’s stupid to cut someone out of your life because your friend broke up with them.” She shrugged. “You were kind of funny, and nobody’s around to care.”

“Well, is she on the make?”

“Lisa? No, still in recovery, honestly. I think she’s out of the ice cream and crying phase, but not starting anything new yet,” Charlie reported. “What about you?”

“Nobody new in my life, except this stupid book.” He closed the cover and set it in his lap. “It’s supposed to be a book about like, something with boats, like Moby Dick but we haven’t left the dock yet.” 

“Moby Dick can also drag on a bit, can’t it?” She sat down on the floor next to him. 

“Yeah, I’m probably going to return it to the library.” He tossed down the book. “All I really need is to pass my classes, I don’t have to do anything extra. Then things can go back to normal.”

“It’s good to show interest outside of school,” she explained, “it can help you actually enjoy your classes.”

“Yeah, Cas has been telling me the same thing.” He rolled his eyes. “I think that only works for English.”

“Cas? Like Castiel?”

“Oh, yeah, um, it’s a long story.” He brushed off the question. “Look, you like all that science, math stuff, right?”

“Yeah, but let’s go back to the Castiel thing.” She motioned back with her finger. 

“No, let’s not, I just need you to help me study, okay?” He grumbled. “I’m gonna flunk, I need someone to help me out.”

She sighed heavily. Dean held his breath. 

“What time do you want me to come over each week?”

He relaxed. “Can you do Wednesday’s?”

“I have to help at the library until 5, and it takes a while to get from there to your house, so I’ll be there at 6.”

“Alright, thanks, I’ve just been really stressed out about this stuff.” Avoiding bruises and scrapes on his face, he rubbed his temple with the heel of his palm. “Every time I think about school I wanna puke.”

“Sure, I get it. Studying can probably help with that stress.” she stood up and stretched. 

Dean laughed. “Help with stress? It’s part of the thing that makes me stressed. Look, I may not be on a sports team but that doesn’t make me a nerd like you.”

“Nerd like me?” She touched her hand to her chest. 

“Oh come on, Charlie-“

“I don’t think you’re a nerd like me, you don’t even study.” She rolled her eyes. “But you don’t do sports, you don’t have friends, you can’t do school, you’re a James Dean level of disaffected teenage loner. Like  Rebel Without a Cause .”

He sat back and thought about it as she walked down the hall. 

“Does that make you Natalie Wood?” He called down the hallway.

“Absolutely not!” She turned around and walked back past the lockers and empty classrooms. “I’d be Sal Mineo!”

She bumped into the wall and looked over her shoulder again. 

“I don’t think it’s a perfect comparison, you know.” He leaned forward where he sat, trying to call at her as she turned the corner. 

She poked her head around the corner and yelled, “then go find your Natalie Wood!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute since I posted, and I just realized idk what to say in the notes unless I'm ranting. Anyways short chapter for today, I want to slow down my posting so I don’t run out of things to post. I’d really hate for you all to see the speed at which I really write.


	9. Chapter 9

The windows frosted over with condensation as the apartment filled with steam. Dean tapped his toes on the kitchen floor while he cooked. He ran his finger underneath the edge of the counter, feeling the rougher edge of those cracked tiles. Charlie was setting out stacks of flashcards at the kitchen table, Sammy was in his room with a pile of Dean’s old comic books. Dean was at the stove, scraping macaroni out of the pot into bowls for the three of them. John, of course, was missing from the scene. It was nice, but Dean wasn’t going to mention it. He set down a bowl next to Charlie, and one at his seat. 

He knocked on the door to his room, holding Sam’s bowl. “Sammy, I made dinner.”

“Can I eat in my room?” He poked his head out of the door. “I’m at a very intense part of the story.”

“You’ve read all my comics a billion times, Sammy,” Dean tried to peek into his room, skeptical of his brother. “So, what, are you hiding something?”

“No, I just bought a new one today. Tales of Suspense. It’s kind of old, but I couldn’t afford it till now. So they just introduced this new character, Tony Stark- well, he’s Iron Man, and he’s a billionaire and he got captured in Vietnam, and he’s got shrapnel in his heart, and he built an iron suit, and he’s gonna fight the communists instead of build bombs for them, and-“

“Okay, whatever, eat in your room.” Dean handed him his food. “I have to study, anyways.”

Sam pulled the door shut and went back to his new comic. He sat down with Charlie, flipping through the textbook. 

“Sam won’t be joining us, he’s become pretty invested in this Iron Man comic book.” He took a bite of his food.

“Tales of Suspense? That’s a good one.” She nodded, highlighting a few lines in her book. “Thanks for making me dinner, by the way,”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do.” He tapped his pencil on his page. “Do I need to get one of those yellow markers to study?”

“Oh, not really. I’d actually advise you not to get one.” She set down her highlighter. “My teachers hate it when I use it, but I think it helps. It’s just the same as underlining, it’s just brighter.”

Dean shrugged. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?” She picked up a stack of flashcards. “Let’s start with some terminology, and we’ll start simple.”

This was very different from how Castiel had helped him. Dean surmised it was because science dealt more with matters of the mind than that of the heart. 

“Okay.” He nodded. “I got this.”

Possibly it was because he felt differently about Castiel and Charlie. They were different people, after all. 

“So, define ’electron.’” She held the card out so he could see the word without the definition.

Charlie was a friend, even if she was a girl. She never had suggested anything about dating, she kept her boundaries clear, and Dean recoiled at the thought of being anything other than friends. Castiel always made him feel fidgety and nervous. He assumed it was because of how they met, and the uncomfortable situation that put them in now that they were friends. Castiel was partially responsible for his breakup with Lisa, and that wasn’t exactly a normal way to become friends, which is probably why he didn’t feel like a normal friend. Dean treated Charlie and Castiel differently because they were different people in different situations, and he resolved to leave it at that.

“Hello, earth to Dean?” Charlie waved her hands in front of his face. “Anybody in there?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.” He shook his head. “Uh, electrons are the particles that go around atoms, and they have... a negative charge.”

“Pretty much. The definition on the card is ‘an elementary particle with a negative charge. Orbits the nucleus of an atom. Sometimes called a negatron.’” She set down the card, looking disappointed. “That’s really basic, it shouldn’t have taken you that long to figure it out. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I’m just stressed about school.” He rolled his pencil between his hands. “I’m good.”

“You sure? Because you’re doing that thing where you say you’re fine when you’re obviously not.” She folded her arms. “What’s up with you?”

“Um, so, let’s say I met somebody, and I’m really not sure how I feel about them.” He curved his shoulders into himself, shrinking down on the kitchen chair. “I’m not even supposed to be their friend, and I- I think I might feel differently about them. I know I’m not supposed to, but I uh, think there is a possibility I might feel differently about them.”

“Feelings can be complicated. You don’t always know what you feel.” She shrugged. 

“Exactly,” He said, “but I just feel like I’m hiding parts of myself from people if I don’t know 

“Wrong?” Charlie laughed, “I haven’t known you long, but I know you’re not the type to worry about what people think is wrong.”

“Well, I don’t know how to describe it. I feel like I’m drowning in schoolwork and this whole  thing  hasn’t helped.” He tensed up his fingers on the kitchen chair. “I’m just so confused.”

Charlie put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. “Dean, are you trying to tell me that you’re gay?” 

Dean’s stomach plummeted and he folded his arms over his chest defensively. “I don’t know what I’m trying to tell you, okay? I mean- do you think...”

“I don’t know, it just seems like that’s what you’re trying to say.”

“Well, it’s not, so give it a rest!” 

“I’m not trying to hit a nerve here, that’s just what I think. If you are, it’s fine by me, that’s all I’m saying.”

“But if you really think that, just don’t go around telling people.” He dropped his voice into a whisper. “Especially not Sam.”

“I know, I know.” She whispered.

“Don’t tell me what?” Sam poked his head out of the door. 

“How long were you hiding there?” Dean turned around in his chair, panicking inside.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe I never left.”

“He’s been there since you finished your sentence.” Charlie shrugged. “He didn’t hear anything important.”

“Get out of here.” Dean shooed him away, rolling his eyes. “Me and Charlie are busy joining the commies to kill Iron Man, or whatever’s going on in your dumb book.”

“ _Charlie and I_ are joining the commies,” Sam corrected. 

“You are? That’s nice, I’m sure it looks great on a college application.” He shut the door in Sam’s face. “I hope there won’t be scheduling conflicts while we’re busy killing superheroes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ew it feels like it’s been forever since I posted. Just a little filler chapter pretty much :/ I mean like not really but it’s super short.


	10. Chapter 10

Late at night, Castiel watched the faint moonlight from his window shine like pale white watercolor on his ceiling. Gabriel sat up in his bed and crept to the window. Castiel turned over on his side and looked up at him, unsurprised.

“Jeez, don’t give me that look.” Gabriel took a step back in surprise. “How do you always know when I get up?” 

“You’re not very quiet, and I can see your shadow on the ceiling.” Castiel sat up.

“Creepy.”

“It’s not creepy, I just couldn’t sleep.” He pulled his sheets over his shoulders and leaned against the wall. “Is it worth it to sneak out in this kind of cold?”

“I was just cracking the window.” He put his hand in the pocket of his pajama pants. “I was gonna have a smoke.”

“It’s past midnight,” he said, “have you considered that you might have a problem?”

“Yeah, you want one too?” Gabriel held out the packet of cigarettes he pulled from his pockets. 

Castiel nodded and sat down at the head of his bed by the window. Gabe cracked the window and sat on the desk. He opened the drawer and fished around for a lighter. Castiel shifted his shoulder that was pressing into the iron bed frame. 

“So, Gabriel.” He looked down at his hands as he spoke. “Um, you remember when I was showing you guys that book? What you guys said, uh-“

“Yeah, I’m sorry, they’re just busting your balls but I told them to stop.” He looked out the window and took out a cigarette. 

“No, it’s alright, I uh, I heard. I’ve just been thinking about what you all said.” He rubbed at his fading black eye. 

“Oh.” Gabriel’s hands fell flat, losing energy as guilt washed over him. “So you heard...  all of it.”

“Yes, I did.”

“I called you a faggot.”

“Yes, you did.” He nodded. “I’ve just been... thinking. I don’t know how to put it into words, but I think you might be right.”

“Oh.” He let his hands drop into his lap. 

“I’m really still trying to piece it all together myself.” Castiel looked out the open window, puzzling over the dew-soaked grass receding to the dark. “I’m really not sure about any of it, or how to really say it out loud. I just feel glad that I can... talk it through with you.”

Gabriel was silent, fiddling with the cigarette in his hand. Castiel instinctively reached for where his tie would be, anxiously pressing his knuckles into his collarbones. 

“You’re just... sensitive. You’re a creative type.” Gabriel set the cigarettes down on the desk and leaned against the window frame. “That’s all.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ve always kind of been that way.” Castiel fussed with the collar of his shirt anxiously. “I- I suppose I should accept that.” 

Gabriel pulled his knees up to his chest, casting a glance around the dimly lit room. 

When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual, taking on a reserved sort of quietness. “It must be really difficult to have to come to terms with that.”

“It’s pretty painful.”

“Does that scare you?”

“Of course it does,” Castiel answered with unusual tranquility. “It’s terrifying.”

Shifting across the desk, Gabriel extended an open palm to his roommate. Taking a shaky breath, Castiel squeezed his hand and looked away. Castiel felt the weight of his fears bearing down on his shoulders and chest, and he focused on slowing his breathing. 

“It’s gonna be okay, you know,” Gabriel whispered.

He looked back up at Gabe with a single word burning into his mind. 

“When?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a very short chapter and isn’t very important to the plot, but it’s important to my heart :) hope y’all enjoy
> 
> Edit: so the notes from chapter one keep showing up at the end of the notes, and I’ve had this happen before and I don’t know what to do about it. Sorry if that bugs you, I think it’s just gonna stay there. :(


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel tapped his fingers on the page, rereading the poem he planned to read to Dean that night. The sliver of a moon cast a watery shine onto a square of the floor where Castiel sat. A sharp crack against the wall outside jolted him from his book, and he snapped his head up. Castiel eased the window open to see Dean on the grass outside his window, holding a handful of pebbles. He motioned for Dean to come up and he climbed to the roof. His boots scraped on the windowsill as he squeezed in the window carefully.

“Hi,” Dean whispered. 

Castiel took him by the hand and led him to the storage room. They settled down on some suitcases, shoulders pressed together as they sat next to each other. Dean fiddled with something in his pocket, avoiding Castiel’s eyes. Pulling at a thread in his sweater, Cas was jittery with barely-retained anxiety. 

“I’ll start with a sonnet by John Keats.” He smoothed out the crinkles in his book, clearing his throat quietly. “ When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, 

Before high-piled books, in charactery, 

Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain; 

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face, 

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, 

And think that I may never live to trace 

Their shadows with the magic hand of chance; 

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, 

That I shall never look upon thee more, 

Never have relish in the faery power 

Of unreflecting love—then on the shore 

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think 

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. ” 

Dean kept his eyes fixed on the rough floorboards, littered with ash and dust. 

“What’s wrong?” Castiel cocked his head.

“Nothing, that was really nice.” Dean shook his head. “What’s it mean?”

“Well, John Keats, the speaker, is saying how he wants to be famous and intensely loved, but he’s afraid he’ll die before he gets any of that.” Castiel looked into the book at the little spare notebook page of doodles and notes he’d stuck in. “What he’s looking for is once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. Not many people get to have lives of rich words and soul-shaking romances, and if we died today, right now, would we be happy with how we lived our lives?”

Dean thought for a minute. “I don’t think I would be.”

Castiel looked up, concerned. “Why not?”

“Well, I’ve been well-liked, but I don’t think I’ve ever been... appreciated.” Dean rubbed the hem of his jacket between his fingers. “I just feel dissatisfied with my life and the choices I’ve made.”

Dean stuck his hand in the pocket of his jacket. His fingers brushed over the crushed violet hidden in his pocket. He gently pulled out the limp little flower, laying it across his fingers. 

“Aw, I killed it.” He set it out on the suitcase. 

“Where’d you get that?” Castiel squinted at it. 

“Picked it on the way over.” He shrugged, trying to appear calm and collected. “It would’ve frozen as soon as the first snow fell.” 

“At least you could still press it in a book,” he offered.

“Yeah, I don’t want to waste a beautiful moment.” He mumbled to his knees. “I feel bad for ruining it.”

“You didn’t ruin it.” Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You can’t keep beating down on yourself all the time. You know there are people who love you, right?”

Dean tilted his head up and looked at him firmly, locking into his pale blue eyes with a look that was almost tainted with jealousy.

“Some people are so lucky, and they don’t even know it. There are people who would give you the love of a lifetime, and we turn them down for the stupidest reasons.” Cas shook his head and let out a half-hearted laugh. “We really are so stupid, Dean, people just can’t see what’s in front of them.”

“Cas,” Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. “What are you talking about?” 

Castiel’s heart raced, feeling weight pushing down on his stomach, pulling his shoulders in. 

“You,” He said softly, “it was always you, even before I knew it.” 

Dean ran through the poem in his head. Someday, he’d be dead, and what would he have to show for it? So far, a slightly improved English grade, a broken heart, and a brother who can handle life better than Dean ever will. What a sad life. 

“I know that this is insane, and I have no hope of ever really... being myself, but now I think I realized something.” Castiel’s heart raced and his hands shook slightly as he spoke. “If I had to die tonight, I think I could be happy. I mean, I wish I could have the kind of love that could stop the earth from spinning, but I know that I can be happy just to say it.”

Dean felt himself freezing up as realization slowly dawned on him. He was stunned, panicking, and locking up. If he could have raised his voice, he hadn’t the first clue as to what he was supposed to say. 

Castiel waited with bated breath, holding his hands close to his chest. He felt his heartbeat through his sweater, pounding at his rib cage. There was no going back from this. 

“Dean?”

“I need need to go,” he blurted out. 

“I’m sorry-“

Dean stepped out into the hallway, throwing the door closed behind him. Castiel slowly slid off the suitcase to the floor, pressing his head into the corner of the suitcase Dean had sat on. He fumbled with a crumpled cigarette pack left on the floor and searched for the lighter hidden somewhere under a suitcase. He flicked it a couple of times, finally getting a light. He looked from the tiny flame in one hand to the bent cigarette in the other, and let the flame go out. He tossed the lighter across the room and crumpled the cigarette. Castiel tucked his knees to his chest and buried his face into them for a moment, breathing heavily. He brought his head up for a moment, reaching for the scrawny, mangled violet. He twirled its stem between his fingers, and it lolled over his fingers like a wet strip of paper. A dark purple wilted leaf fluttered for a second, then dropped like a stone at his feet. Castiel stuck the flower into the opened page in his book. A single teardrop landed on the page, bleeding into the paper. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I fixed the notes issue, I believe. :)
> 
> Okay, so after this post I’ll be taking a break from posting for a few weeks because of holidays, finals (especially my biology final, where I’m fermenting alcohol :) I’m fairly certain it’s legal, but if I get arrested that’s how I know the experiment was successful.) and the fact that I can’t write as fast as I post. I don’t know if I went on hiatus at the best or worst place, but unfortunately for you all it’s a big cliff hanger. But if I never update this, I may have been arrested for my illegal bootlegging operation. Maybe I’ll see you next year, good riddance 2020!


	12. Chapter 12

Dean dropped his bag onto the floor. Almost a week had passed since he’d seen Cas, and he was honestly just glad he’d survived to the weekend. But soon enough it would be Monday and he’d be missing Cas every Monday until they moved, until he forgot, until he died. He sighed and threw himself down on the couch. He put his head in his hands and sighed, trying to think of anything else. His moment of quiet was interrupted by Sam slamming the door open. A radio hummed indistinctly out on the balcony, and the wind fluttered Dean’s papers on the kitchen table.

“Dean, come outside!” Sam’s face was red and his nose was running from the cold, and he shuffled sludge off his feet onto the floor. 

“Quit dragging snow in the house.” Dean swung his feet off the couch. “What’s so important? I just sat down.” 

Sam grabbed his jacket off the floor and threw it at Dean. “Come on.”

He ran out the door and out to the courtyard. Dean followed him to the door, slowly putting on his jacket. In the courtyard, someone had perched a small yellow transistor radio on top of a plastic chair, and a small group of Dean’s neighbors huddled around it hanging on to the fuzzy words leaking from the speakers. Their neighbor from downstairs, Rufus, stood back from the crowd, scowling at the snow. Missouri, the woman who lived a few doors over shook her head sadly like she was waiting on bad news she had already known. Her son, James, was a fair bit older and taller than Dean. Missouri claimed to be a psychic, James claimed that she worried too much. Now he didn’t look so sure. Running around the radio were a much younger boy and a girl, twins, Alicia and Max, Dean remembered. Their mother, Tasha, stood at the edge of the group, unsuccessfully trying to get them to sit still. A girl about Sam’s age stood behind the radio, looking confused.

“What’s going on?” Dean whispered to Sam, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Oh, honey.” Missouri patted her son’s shoulder and looked up at Dean: “The president’s dead.” 

“Shit,” he murmured. 

The cheap yellow radio fizzled and crackled, gathering a thin layer of snow as they sat in silence, struggling to hear. The radio dissolved into static between sentences, going into patches of popping and hissing blank noise. Max and Alicia had run off to break off and throw the icicles stuck to the bottom of the railings, while James sat in the snow, trying to tune the radio. 

“It’s useless.” He switched it off. “If I leave this damn thing out anymore, it’ll freeze over.” 

“Hasn’t anybody got a television?” Sam looked around.

The woman shook her head.

Rufus scoffed, “in this neighborhood?”

Sam kicked at the snow dejectedly. The dwindling group milled around in the courtyard for a while, talking amongst themselves. Sam’s face was pink from the cold, and he talked to Dean quietly, sticking his hands in his armpits. Sam and Dean’s next-door neighbor, Bobby, entered the courtyard, shaking snow off his hat.

“Sam, Dean, what’re you kids doing out here in the cold?” He looked around the courtyard. “It’s freezing, you should be inside.”

Sam shuffled his feet. “Bobby, didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what?” 

“Kennedy’s dead.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “The radio’s no good, so we’re all waiting here.”

Bobby muttered a curse, scratching his head. “Well come on, I’ve got a TV, we could catch Walter Cronkite on the evening news.”

“Should we invite everybody else in?” Sam asked. 

“‘Invite’ sounds like we’re havin’ a party, but go tell ‘em.” Bobby unlocked his door and flipped on his lights. “Dean, would you get the TV?”

Dean kneeled on the shag rug and fiddled with the dials, catching only static. 

“Just hit the side a bit or fix the foil on the antenna,” Bobby said, throwing down his hat. 

Dean smacked the top of the box, and the picture crackled on. People filtered into the apartment and started taking seats on the rug and around the television. Dean tuned in to CBS as the title card faintly buzzed on the screen. 

“Sam, would you get the lights and shut the door?” Bobby gestured to the door left swinging open. “Can’t see shit on this television until it’s dark.”

Sam gently closed it and switched the lights off to see the TV better. Dean moved to the back of the group. The two kids sitting right in front of the TV were cast in a light blue glow, and the room was dark and gloomy. The picture shifted on the screen, settling into the news station as Walter Cronkite began speaking. 

“John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assassinated today in the 46th year of his life and his third year as President of the United States.” His face was blurred black and white, jumping with static that burned into the somber atmosphere of the room. “These are the circumstances of the assassination: the president and governor John Connelly of Texas were shot while riding in the presidential limousine through the streets of Dallas. The president was shot once or twice through the head by a sniper firing from a fifth or sixth story window overlooking the motorcade route.” 

Dean shuffled his feet across the carpet and stood next to Bobby. The last little dusting of snow on his shoulders melted off, leaving dark wet speckles on the leather. 

“They were rushed to a nearby hospital. The president died about half an hour later, at about 1 pm Dallas time. Governor Connelly’s condition is satisfactory. Both Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. Connelly were in the car. Neither were injured. Later in the afternoon, the police arrested Lee H. Oswald, 24...”

“Dean, would you take Sam and the kids outside for a while?” Bobby whispered in his ear. 

“Why do I have to babysit? James gets to stay.” Dean whispered back.

“James is eighteen. He’s an adult, he has seniority, and Sam isn’t his brother,” he responded.

Dean grumbled, but knew not to protest too much. He slipped past the shoulders of his neighbors, stationary in their positions in Bobby’s living room like statues. Dean felt he was walking through a museum exhibit of the statues, frozen in time but so old and alone that they would crumble under a touch. If he spoke too loud, he thought they would crack. The pallid alabaster and shining soapstone faces of his neighbors were unmoving, catching the dim light of the TV.

“Oswald was dragged fighting and screaming from a Dallas movie theater. He also killed a Dallas police officer in that fight at the theater.” Oswald went to Russia in 194- er- 59. He returned to this country only last year after failing and trying to get Soviet citizenship.” Cronkite continued while Dean gathered Sam and the three other kids. “Still pictures show the last dramatic moments of President Kennedy’s life.”

Dean herded them out of the room, hushing quiet protests from Sam. The five of them spilled out into the abandoned courtyard, left to their own devices. 

“Dean, come on, I’m old enough,” Sam hissed. “Can’t I just go and look?”

“No, you’re not old enough, you’re never gonna be old enough, you dig?” Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulder and glared at him. “This isn’t a fucking TV show, the president just got shot. You are  way too young to see a man get shot!” 

“You sound like Dad.” Sam shrugged his hand away and ran off to the window. “Fucking jerk.”

Dean leaned on a post supporting the balcony of the next floor, shaking snow off his boots. Was he becoming like his father? The two little kids sat in the snow and threw bits of ice at each other. The girl gravitated to Sam, who was trying to peek into the window of Bobby’s apartment. 

“Can you hear it?” She said. 

He turned to her and said. “Nope, they’ve got it turned down pretty low, and this wall isn’t doing me much of a favor.”

She nodded, kicking at the snow. “Well, it was better than the radio.”

“Yeah, at least you can see the announcer.” He glanced at the window, keeping his face to her. “Eileen, how good are you at lip reading? Could you do it from here?”

“Let me try.” She stepped to the window and squinted at the TV in the dark. “Nope, way too blurry and way too far.”

Bobby walked up to the window and snapped the curtains shut. 

“Damn.” He blew hot air out in a puff, fluttering the hair hanging in his eyes. “We could watch if my brother wasn’t such a lame dick.”

“Hey, what is it with you and the language today?” Dean raised his voice to call over to him. “You’d better watch your ass, Sammy.”

Sam turned to Eileen and faced away from Dean, asking her something Dean didn’t catch. She flipped Sam off, he laughed, and then flipped off Dean. 

“Hey!”

Sam gestured from Eileen to Dean. He thought for a minute, then falteringly signed,  we watch news in store window . Dean blew into his hands, looking across the courtyard with slight confusion. 

“How will we get there?” She said, signing as she spoke.

“My brother... he can drive” He signed what he thought was  brother , then signed  drive . Eileen laughed and shook her head. 

“That’s ‘sister,’ I know you don’t have a sister,” she copied the sign, then showed him a similar one. “This is ‘brother.’ You just change your hand from your cheek to your forehead.”

He mimicked the sign and nodded, then glanced over to Dean. 

“Absolutely not.”He shook his head and crossed his arms. 

“You are such a stick in the mud,” Sam muttered. 

“Sam, this is serious.”

“Come on, please?”

”Sammy, I'm not kidding.”

”Go ask Bobby. If Bobby says it’s okay, you should take us, if not, I’ll give it a rest.” He nodded towards Bobby’s door. “I’ll listen to a real adult, not someone who tries to act older than he really is.”

Dean rolled his eyes and silently slipped into Bobby’s apartment, sidling up to Bobby in the back. 

“Sam wants me to take the kids downtown to watch the news in some store window.” He whispered to Bobby, glancing at the TV as he spoke. “Can you tell him to quit it?”

Dean caught a flash of some film; the Kennedys shaking hands and taking pictures with well-wishers before the parade. 

Bobby looked out the window at the sound of the slamming metal gate. “I think they’re going downtown whether we like it or not.”

Dean ran out into the courtyard and saw Sam and Eileen’s footprints left behind them in the snow.

“God damn it!” He cursed under his breath, then herded the younger kids into Bobby’s apartment. “Bobby, I gotta dump these guys on you while I stop Sam and his girlfriend from eloping while they’re at it.”

“Yeah sure, go play in the kitchen.” Bobby shooed them out of the living room. “Don’t touch the stove.” 

Dean ran outside, noticing how dark it had gotten in the courtyard. He shut the gate and walked up to the car. 

“God damn it, already with the snow? Fucking New England.” With his bare hands, he wiped the thin layer of snow off his windshield. After unlocking the door, he turned the key in the ignition, making the engine stall. 

“God damn it! Come on baby, don’t fail me now.” He slapped the steering wheel and tried again. This time the car’s engine purred naturally, so Dean shut the door and pulled away from the curb. 

Snow clumped into the gutter, sooty and melting. He scanned the deserted street, prowling alongside the plain brick buildings in the black car. Squinting, he tried to look for tracks in the muddy slush on the street. 

Pulling through an empty intersection, he turned the car onto a typically busier street. He passed the grocery store and pulled to the curb when he saw Sam and Eileen standing in front of an appliances shop. They stood in front of the window of the appliance store, huddling in front of a wall is shining TVs, in black and white and color. The numbers on the bright yellow price tags were high enough to make Dean’s stomach drop. Practically 500 dollars, he thought, it’s almost too expensive to even look at. 

“Come on Sam, are you gonna sit out in the snow doing nothing, or are you gonna get in the car?” He slapped the roof of the car, motioning for Sam to get in. 

Dean realized how much he sounded like his father. He shook out his shoulders with a slight shiver and pushed away that thought as quickly as it had come into his mind. 

“Dean, you know, I’m real sick and tired of you treating me like a little kid.” Sam crossed his arms and stormed over to the car. “I do just as much work as you around the house, and I’m practically in high school. Can’t I just watch the friggin’ news like every other person in the country?”

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? Fine.”

Sammy blinked. “What?”

“Go ahead and watch the news, okay?” Dean leaned back against the car. “I’m not gonna stop you.” 

“You’re serious?” 

“You can handle yourself and be mature about this, can’t you?” Dean held out a hand when Sam’s face lit up. “And don’t get so excited, alright? The president’s dead, I don’t think you know what this could mean politically.”

Sam stared blankly. 

“Just listen to Walter Cronkite, he can explain it to you better.” Dean waved him away. “And you can walk home in the snow, since you walked out here in the first place.” 

Eileen tapped on the store window, looking at Sam. “He’s talking over a picture now, what’s he saying?”

“I should probably...”

“Yeah, go help your girlfriend.”

Sam rolled his eyes and walked away. 

When he turned to open the car door, Dean spotted a group of boys in school uniforms like Castiel’s. He quickly searched the group, and sure enough, there he was. Dean accidentally locked eyes with him across the street and noticed how brilliantly blue they were, even from far off. His heart lurched and he forced his head back down to the car door. He slammed it shut behind him and drove off. 

Castiel glanced at his shoes. Damn it, Dean was just everywhere he looked. He couldn’t go out without thinking of him. Everywhere in town just had a little memory. The store he’d bought the cigarettes at, the hallway he’d followed Castiel through, asking to read the book, the bench they’d read poems on until the weather got cold. The window in his room he’d helped Dean through once a week, the roof they sat on and stargazed, the storage room they read poems in, that they’d kissed in. The most pressing thing, however, was that book. A physical reminder of how he’d led Dean on to believe he felt the same way, with those stupid love poems, and that flower still pressed between its pages. To him, it was no more than an uncomfortable lump under his mattress. He stashed it under there to keep it hidden from Gabriel and any other prying eyes, but couldn’t help taking it out in the middle of the night. Castiel told himself that it was because of how thin his mattress was, but deep down he knew the only reason the small book bothered him so much was because of Dean. He could easily forget the lump in his mattress if he wanted to, it wasn’t a thick enough book to seriously disrupt his sleep, but he kept taking it out and putting it back in the middle of the night. He never opened the book when he checked on it, but he just held it, unable to read it or put it away. He was perpetually stuck at this crossroads, forever indecisive. There were too many thoughts churning in Castiel’s head, the dam spilling over the moment he locked eyes with Dean. Staring at the empty space where Dean had been, he haplessly pulled at his tie. 

“Quit staring, it's weird.” Gabriel dragged him down the sidewalk. “What’s your deal?”

“I just saw something on the TV,” he mumbled. 

He looked at Castiel out of the corner of his eye, not entirely believing him.

“Hm. Looks serious.” Balthazar squinted across the street, trying to make out the picture on the fuzzy screen. “I bet it’s some of that civil rights stuff going on in the south.” 

Michael stuck out his tongue. “Ugh, that stuff always ruins everyone’s mood. Please, let’s talk about something fun.”

Castiel shook his head and blinked a few times. Gabriel held on to his arm as he walked down the street, holding him up. 

“Are you okay?” Gabriel whispered. “Wait, is it... like, a gay thing?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He straightened his posture and patted his pockets. “Have you got a cigarette?”

“Uh, yeah.” He handed one to Castiel and lit it for him. 

Michael chattered on your ahead, and they walked a bit faster to catch up.

“No, Luci, what I’m saying is that I think Bob Dylan is just a Woodie Guthrie wannabe. Folk is supposed to sound like the Kingston Trio or some shit. He hardly even writes his own songs!” Michael shrugged nonchalantly. “I just don’t think he’ll really go anywhere. A couple of albums and then he’ll fade into obscurity.” 

“Bull- fucking- shit. He’s got contracts and crap.” He dug his hands in his pockets. “And he’s already done like, three albums, I don’t think he’s gonna just up and disappear.”

“Nah, he writes too much political stuff, nobody likes that. It’s depressing as hell. People don’t want that, he writes these damn songs about war and murder, and nobody wants to hear it!” He kicked a clump of dirty frozen snow on the sidewalk. “People want fun songs from bands like The Beach Boys.” 

Castiel groaned. “You need to get your head out of your ass.” 

Michael turned around, giving Castiel a scowl. Castiel tapped the ash off his cigarette.

“What?”

“You should learn something about the world you live in instead of ignoring it and having fun all the time.” 

“You’re being a spoilsport.” He scoffed. 

“Something important could happen right in front of our face but you’re too busy talking about The Beach Boys.” He coughed and tapped the cigarette ash off again.

“The Beach Boys are all show and no go, they sound like a girl group.” Luci cut in. “You know who’s really bitchin’?”

“Who?” Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Don’t fuckin’ say Frankie Valli, he’s just as girly.”

“No! You heard little Stevie wonder?” He led them further down the street. “He’s blind, black, only 13, and he made it to the radio.”

“What did he do again?” Michael racked his brain. 

“‘Fingertips.’ It was all over the radios last summer.” Gabriel dug his hands in his pockets. “He’s talented. You’d probably know him if you tuned into any Motown.”

“You think my parents let me listen to that stuff? All summer long, every summer home from school, no blues, no folk, no- and I quote- ‘colored music’ and certainly none of that satanic rock and roll.” He mimicked his parents and waved his hands. “Just good, respectable, classical music, all summer long.” 

“No wonder Mikey’s all wound up,” Gabriel snorted. “In his months away from this hellhole, he gets to let loose and go ape to the raucous, wild, sounds of Brahms and Bach.”

“You laugh, but I’ve been hearing the Goldberg Variations all summer for years now.” He rolled his eyes. “Excuse me for not caring about politics, but I desperately need a break from all that seriousness before I have to go back for thanksgiving break tomorrow.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath so that no one could hear. “You have the privilege not to care.”

“Ugh, thanksgiving.” Luci groaned, rolling his eyes. “Can’t wait. You know, it’s probably my least favorite holiday, it’s just so...  blah .”

“It is pretty stressful,” Balthazar added. 

The group of boys walked down the street, complaining to each other, oblivious to the problems of the rest of the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy... i’m baaack... I know it’s been like a month sooo... sorry. But hey, what is a holiday season in 2020 if not a hyper-condensed series of traumatic events? I didn’t even get any writing done I just cried a lot during finals :)


	13. Chapter 13

Dean was wide awake, staring at his ceiling. The window of the bedroom that he and Sam shared was facing the street, and cars would rumble by occasionally. In the city, cars are constant, a perpetual white noise in the background that can be tuned out easily. Out here, cars were frequent, but not constant, so they would leave you in silence only to interrupt it. Over and over, all night long. He rolled over and saw that Sam was asleep.

He crawled out of bed and pushed himself up to a standing position. Dean trudged into the kitchen and stood at the window, looking out at the streetlights shimmering on wet pavement. For what seemed like a moment, he closed his eyes and put his forehead down on the kitchen counter. Suddenly, he was startled awake by the sound of keys scraping in the lock. Dean looked up and saw his father opening the door. 

“Dad?”

John shook the snow off his coat and draped it over the kitchen chair. “Dean, it’s late, what are you doing up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep. What’s your excuse?”

“The bus from the city ran late, and apparently nobody picks up hitchhikers in the snow, so I had to walk half a mile.” He sat down at the kitchen table. “Get me a beer, would ya?”

“We don’t have any.” Dean shrugged. 

John scowled. “What do you mean we don’t have any?” 

“I didn’t buy any.” He leaned against the fridge. “I’m not old enough, and I just didn’t think we could afford it if we didn’t need it that bad.”

John rubbed his temples and spoke in a very quiet, strained manner. “Dean, you and I both know that I work very long hours, and being a truck driver is very stressful. I asked for one simple thing, is it really that hard to find a beer here?”

Dean opened the fridge, showing John the empty interior lit up with a flickering lightbulb. It bathed a sliver of the floor in pale yellow light. 

“Why don’t you look in here?”

“Oh don’t give me that crap. You don’t have to speak to me like that.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to do.” Dean gave his father a piercing glare and shut the door. “Sammy and I have been eating at soup kitchens the past couple of days, but now we can’t even do that, since I ran out of gas this morning and I can’t even afford to get us there.” 

“Maybe if you budgeted things better-“

“I budget things a lot better than you can. I took a week's worth of money and stretched it to last twice that. I couldn’t make it to week three, so I’m sorry that I’m not a friggin’ magician,” Dean whispered, “but before you leave next Monday, I’m gonna need some more money. I’d like Sammy to have something to eat on thanksgiving.”

“I’m not going back to work Monday.” John sat back against the wall.

“When are you going back, then?”

“I’m not. I quit my job today.” John folded his arms, almost waiting for Dean to explode. 

Dean took in a sharp breath, then spoke in an articulate whisper. “You  what ?” 

“I quit my job,” he repeated, then said, “the hours were long, the pay was bad, it was starting to get to me. I wanted some time with my kids.” 

Dean’s stomach dropped. Their balance at home had suddenly tipped. His father was going to be home all the time, poking around into private matters and stressing Dean out more so than usual. 

“You need to get a job,” Dean demanded. “I can’t keep stealing food just to stay alive, it's humiliating.”

“You’re old enough, why don’t you get a job?” His father stood up and strode across the room. 

“What kind of jobs are in this town anyway? Bagging groceries or some other pathetic shit like that?” Dean raised his voice, dropping into a whisper when he noticed his volume. “I can’t feed three people and pay the bills for you making minimum wage. And have to work part-time, I’ve got to go to school, you know.”

“You never cared about school, you barely show up at all.” 

“Well, I’m getting better. I’m trying, alright?I go to class, I dropped sports, I broke up with my girlfriend, stopped talking to my friends and I started focusing on school. I even study, with flashcards and everything.” Dean rummaged around in a pile of papers on the kitchen table and held up a handful of crumpled index cards. “See? I’m making changes.”

“Wow.” John blinked in astonishment. “How long do you plan on keeping that act up? Breaking up with the girlfriend and everything.” 

“Well that was- the point is I can’t just blow off school to support you and Sam by myself,” he said, “you have to get a new job.” 

John looked around the darkened apartment. “Of course I’m getting a new job, I’m gonna go stir crazy here. I can barely stand this fucking town.”

“Then why did we even move here?” 

“Work.”

Dean paused, biting his lip. “You’re not gonna make us move again when you get a new job? I hate moving to new schools.”

John glanced out the window and glowered around the apartment. “We’ll see.” 

Dean bit back a response and sighed. Without another word, he slunk off to his room and sat down on the end of his bed.

“This week is going to suck.”

-

Thwack! Dean slapped a newspaper in front of his father’s slumped over shoulders on the kitchen table. John lifted his head. 

“No coffee or alcohol in the house,” John grumbled. “When did you become a Mormon?” 

“There’s no food in the house at all.” Dean looked over his shoulder bitterly as he opened a cabinet and got out a glass. “I circled jobs for you in pen, mine in pencil.”

“You’re seriously going to get a job?” John held up the newspaper. 

“You’ve made it clear that I can’t rely on you 100% when it comes to money.” Dean filled up the glass with water from the sink, looking at his father out of the corner of his eye. “It’s mostly odd jobs and things, stuff I can do after school.”

“Well, money’s tight right now.” 

“Money’s always tight.” Dean set the glass of water down on the table and folded his hands. “But I am gonna need money for groceries, now that you’re here.”

“I’ll give it to you when you go out shopping.” John tossed the paper aside. “I don’t want you going off and spending it on something else.” 

Dean took a sip of water before he spoke, lowering it to say, “I need gas money too.”

“You won’t anymore,” he said. “I’m taking the car.”

Dean set down the cup of water forcefully, spilling some of it on his hand. 

“I don’t have a truck to drive anymore, so I need my car back.” John shrugged. 

Dean wiped his hands on his pants, trying not to say anything because he knew it wouldn’t be something his father wanted to hear. 

“You don’t have to worry about getting a job.” John stood up and went to look for his wallet. “I’ve got money saved, it can hold us over until I get a job. I’ll even bet you a beer that I’ll have a job before Thanksgiving.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Dean said, watching him look for his wallet. “Check your jacket pocket.”

He fished around the pockets of the jacket hanging over the back of the chair and held up his wallet. He took out a handful of crumpled bills and spare change and tossed it down on the table. 

“Go get some groceries, I’m going to look for a job.” He said, putting on his jacket and opening the door. “Go get something for breakfast other than water.”

He slammed the door behind him, leaving Dean to stare down at the glass of water in his hand. He looked up at the money on the table. 

“Right on,” he muttered, flattening out the money. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohooo I am so behind on writing but anyways here’s another chapter, and in spn filler episode fashion Cas is conspicuously absent. Again. He’s just vaguely out of town. But the next couple chapters are more focused on Dean’s development as a character than to his relationship with Cas. Even though that’s probably what you all came here for.


	14. Chapter 14

Faint thumping rattled the floor, Christmas music filtering faintly from a nearby apartment. Sitting on his bed and leaning against the wall, Dean covered his ears and groaned. 

“I can’t believe this!” He shouted, “fuck you too! It’s November!”

“Relax, Dean, I’m sure you do the same with your music.” Sam looked up from his comic book. 

“Not at eleven at night.” He crossed his arms. “...Most nights.”

He sighed and tried to ignore it, going back to struggling through  The Heart of Darkness.  He dropped the book and buried his head in a pillow. 

“I can’t fucking take it. It is  not beginning to look a lot like Christmas, because it’s fucking November.” He grumbled into his bed. 

“You’re like the grinch.” Sam scoffed. “Why do you hate the holidays?”

“Don’t give me that Christmas spirit crap.” Dean looked up and shook his head. “I don’t hate the holidays, don’t get why we can’t celebrate the holidays quietly, in the right order, without pushing Christmas on people as soon as Halloween is over.”

“That’s a valid point. Christmas has become increasingly commercialized in the past few decades,” Sam noted. “It undermines the true meaning of Christmas: giving.”

“I hate sappy crap like that almost as much as I hate this music.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Can we please focus on surviving one holiday at a time?” 

Sam shrugged. Dean turned back to his book, realizing he’d lost his place. He sighed.

“Any idea what we’ll do for thanksgiving?” Sam asked.

“The usual, unless you decide to ditch me for a girl again.” Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother.

“That was like, two years ago.”

“I had to go to the gas station all by myself.” Dean pouted. 

“Hey, I just wanted a normal thanksgiving for once.” Sam glanced at their bedroom door. “But do you think we could go for pizza this year?” 

“Sure, why not?” Dean smiled. 

John poked his head into the room, holding the door open a crack. “Hey, would you turn down the damn Christmas music?”

“It’s not us. That’s the neighbors,” Dean explained through gritted teeth. “We don’t own any Christmas albums.”

He saw John relax his white-knuckled grip on the door handle. Dean’s anxiety subsided slightly, still feeling tense in the presence of his father. 

“The neighbors? I’ll go have a word with them about the noise.” John looked over his shoulder. 

“No, dad, you don’t have to do that,” Sam called out. 

“Yeah, come on, it’s not a big deal,” said Dean.

“Would you two relax? I’m just gonna talk to them,” He said. 

Without waiting for a response, he walked out the front door and slammed it behind him, making Sam jump. Dean groaned and got up to close their bedroom door. 

“You know, I hate it when he doesn’t close the door! It’s fucking cold, especially in the kitchen.” Dean complained as he sat back down.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “He gets on my nerves.”

“I can’t tell if I hate it more when he’s missing for weeks on end, or when he’s at home.” He let his shoulders slump back to their typical ease. “He makes me so stressed out.”

“One of these days I’m gonna forget to bite my tongue and I’ll just start yelling at him all the time.” Sam leaned against the wall next to his bed. 

“Then there’ll be two of us,” Dean agreed.

“So, I heard you and Dad talking about jobs,” Sam brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Shouldn’t I get a job too? To help out?”

“You’re always so eager to copy me.” He rolled his eyes and sighed. “You don’t need a job. You don’t want a job. Stop trying to grow up before you have to.”

“What’s wrong with wanting a job?”

“Don’t you have other, more fun things to do with your teenage years? Like school, or a social life?” Dean said. “You’ve got friends, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, what about you?”

“What do you mean,  what about me ?”

“What friends do you have that are so important.”

“I’ve got friends.”

“Name them.” Sam crossed his arms.

“Well, this isn’t about me, but I’ve got friends.” Dean scowled. “Like Charlie, for example.”

“That’s friend, singular.” 

“Alright, well I’ve got other friends who don’t live here.”

“Yeah, right, and a girlfriend in Canada.” 

“Oh, screw you, you know I have friends. I don’t really care what you think of me anyway. I’m goin’ out.”

“What, are you mad?” 

“Nah.” Dean leaned in the doorway. “I’m gonna go sit on the balcony and watch Dad go apeshit on the neighbors. Well, as soon as he finds out who’s making so much noise.”

“He’s gonna make more commotion doing that than the music did.” Sam rubbed his temples. “It’s embarrassing to be related to him.”

“Yeah...” Dean slouched over, hands in his pockets. “So are you gonna come watch or what?”

Sam sighed and said flatly, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 


End file.
